


Dark Places

by ineswrites



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Dead Body, Dream Sequence, Getting Together, Kidnapping, M/M, Slow Burn, Voyeurism, characters speaking Russian by a not speaking Russian author, creepy Jack Rollins, google translate russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-17 15:05:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 29,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10596507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineswrites/pseuds/ineswrites
Summary: So because of who Jack was as a person, of course it took him two years to pay attention to the guy who had been handling his latte, and another week to notice that he was beautiful. Not handsome like Brad Pitt or hot like your buddy’s Tinder date, but actually beautiful, like Van Gogh’s “Starry Night”. Jack could stare at him for hours, or maybe even for fucking ever.





	1. can I watch you?

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo boy. This is not what I should be writing, considering I have at least a couple of other things started and waiting for me to get my hands into. But this idea came to me when I was sleep-deprived and wouldn’t go away. I’m writing this down while also being sleep-deprived. It might or might not explain some things.
> 
> This is probably the creepiest coffee shop au ever written. Unless there’s an actual creepy coffee shop au genre. Then it’s probably only one of the creepiest. I feel like I should apologize, but I’d be lying.
> 
> A fair warning: you know how in various aus Bucky is usually his charming TFA version? Yeah, you don’t get him here. I was aiming for a disturbing mix between the Winter Soldier and CW!Bucky. Again, I feel like I should apologize and again, I’d be lying.
> 
> There’s a 4th wall break because this story is already creepy, why not make it odd, too.

Jack was a misanthrope. He didn’t care about people, didn’t enjoy being around them and made sure to limit his social life to absolute minimum.

The minimum’s name was Bucky. An unfit name for the man in question. “Bucky” was a ten year old with a fondness for lollipops, not a silent badass with a cold stare that you just knew fantasized about going on a killing spree on daily basis. The guys at work called him Winter, because of what a cold motherfucker he was, but not to his face. God forbade anybody called him anything other than Bucky to his face.

People assumed Jack and Bucky were best friends, but it wasn’t really like that. The word friends suggested a feeling of mutual fondness. Jack and Bucky simply tolerated each other, which was still more than they could say about other people they had a misfortune to know. That’s how they ended up going for lattes after work – not strong enough to get them buzzed, but good enough to keep them awake at the wheel. They didn’t do it every day – they’d probably rip each other’s throats if they did – but often enough to satisfy their human needs for company. They didn’t even talk while they drank their beverages, and sometimes Jack thought that maybe it did take a best friend to spend an hour of comfortable silence with.

So because of who Jack was as a person, of course it took him two years to pay attention to the guy who had been handling his latte (no syrups, no whipped cream – it was a profanity), and another week to notice that he was beautiful. Not handsome like Brad Pitt or hot like your buddy’s Tinder date, but actually beautiful, like Van Gogh’s “Starry Night”. Jack could stare at him for hours, or maybe even for fucking ever.

It wasn’t just the guy’s body. There was nothing wrong with it, mind you. The guy was well-built, with huge arms that Jack was sure made not one woman swoon. But Jack saw a lot of muscular men in his life, most of which were convicts, and he hardly found it impressive anymore, if ever.

What did it for Jack was the barista’s face. It was unique, with the bones of his jaw, cheeks and temples well-defined. The toned, smooth skin made him want to reach out and run his fingers along that cheekbone. He wanted to pry the skin and meat off the bone to see for himself what his skull looked like, if it was any different than the few he’s seen. Surely it was. He’d take it and keep it in his bedroom, well-preserved so the bone would stay white and clean, and admire it every day, like he would Van Gogh’s “Starry Night”.

As it was, Jack was sitting quite away from the coffee bar, so the risk of forgetting himself and actually reaching out to touch the other man was low. Bucky sat in front of him, his blue eyes blank and unfocused, face inexpressive, looking every bit of creepy everyone always accused him of. Jack had to admit he liked that about him. It kept other people away, so no one was bothering them. It also meant that Bucky was there only physically, his mind probably somewhere closer to Jupiter than Earth, so he wasn’t bothering Jack. It left Jack to his own devices, which this particular day consisted of staring at his barista’s face for a whole hour before he ran out of coffee to drink.

The next day, Jack managed to forget about the barista – until their shift ended and Bucky suggested they went for coffee. His heart started fluttering against his chest like a trapped bird, his hands turned sweaty, and he just knew that his voice was going to tremble the moment he tried to place his order. Maybe he’d even stutter. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It took one day. One day, and he was head over heels for this guy. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He didn’t even know he was still capable of those feelings. But here he was, sweating under some guy’s stare. Granted, a very beautiful guy, but still.

His voice indeed trembled when he asked for a latte, but he managed to calm himself down enough to steady it when he told the barista his name (Rollins, because nobody but the narrator of this story called him by his first name and he liked it that way). That gave him an idea, and he looked at the man’s nametag. It informed him his name was Brock.

Brock offered a charming smile when he passed them their order and told them to enjoy their coffee. Jack considered going outside, because he had trouble breathing all of a sudden. He didn’t want to tip Bucky off that something was wrong though, so he followed him to a little table in the corner.

“Hey, Bucky,” he said, trying for a casual tone. “Is this guy new?”

Bucky seemed a little surprised that Jack said anything at all, but replied, “No. He does have a new haircut, though.”

Jack shook his head. Brock had been preparing his coffee _for years_ , and only now Jack started to feel for him? Fucking ridiculous was what it was.

Bucky was evidently taken aback by the unusual question, but not curious enough to dwell on the subject. He sat down in a chair, the muscles of his back and shoulders stiff and his eyes watching the inside of the coffee shop. Jack had no idea what was on his mind and didn’t care. He sat down opposite Bucky, tilting his chair a little so he had a perfect view on Brock working behind the coffee bar. He suppressed a long sigh.

He was in big, big trouble.


	2. take you out tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack meets the boyfriend.

Jack decided that the best solution to his recent predicament would be avoiding the coffee shop altogether, so when Bucky asked him if he wanted coffee the following day, he declined. It wasn’t odd of him; he’d often decline if he decided he had enough of socialization for one day and would rather recharge his batteries in the solitude of his home. So they parted ways in front of the base and nobody suspected anything.

Then the weekend came.

It wasn’t that Jack didn’t have things to do. His apartment needed cleaning, fridge refilling and clothes a wash. The problem was that fulfilling those tasks took him exactly three hours, and when he sat down on his couch in his freshly cleaned living room, he still had two long days before him. He rubbed his forehead. What was it he normally did before he met Brock? Weekends had always seemed to pass so quickly before; now, the second hand of the clock was certainly moving too slowly.

Filled with an unexplainable need, he went out. He tried to convince himself he was only going for a walk, to absorb the beautiful, sunny weather. When, after all, he ended up at the door to his favorite coffee shop, he tried to convince himself the need growing in the lower parts of his abdomen was for caffeine, that he actually managed to get addicted to it. He did feel a little sleepy. Almost convinced that was it, he entered the coffee shop.

The guy cashing that day wasn’t Brock. Jack found the fact very frustrating. He should have seen it coming; Brock always worked on weekday evenings. It was Saturday afternoon. Feeling a bit like an idiot, he left and didn’t come back until Monday.

Seeing Brock on Monday affected Jack even more than it did on Thursday. His heart was hammering, his cheeks flushed with heat and his hands fidgeted when he was pulling out his card to pay. He couldn’t look away from Brock’s face, his eyes lingering on those magnificent cheekbones. Slowly, he felt that frustrating need inside of him subside, but at the same time the compulsion to reach out and touch was growing.

His heart was still going crazy inside his chest when he sat down beside Bucky in the booth he chose. With that level of anxiety, he shouldn’t take any amount of caffeine, he noticed bitterly.

Apart from Jack’s – quite ridiculous – condition, the day wasn’t any different than the others. Bucky drank his latte silently, not paying Jack any attention, and when their hour was up, he got up and pulled his leather jacket on. He only looked at Jack when the other didn’t move. Bucky raised his eyebrows at him.

“I’m going,” he said.

Jack nodded. “Goodnight.”

Bucky shrugged. “‘Night.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and left the coffee shop.

Jack wasn’t sure what he was doing, he didn’t have a plan. He only knew he didn’t want to go just yet. He watched Brock behind the counter; nobody was ordering, so he busied himself with his phone. He smiled at the screen making Jack’s heart melt.

He really had it bad for this guy.

He let himself fantasize a bit. He could wait here for Brock to end his shift and ask him out for beer. Brock would agree – not that he would have any reason to do that in reality, but it was called a fantasy for a reason. They’d go and Jack would stare at him all night, and Brock wouldn’t say a thing. He’d be a little like Bucky, silent and unmoving, but he’d smile. A lot. And then Jack would reach out and caress his cheek, tangle his fingers into his hair to see if it was as soft as it looked, and Brock would let him. Then Jack would take him home, tie him to the kitchen chair and keep him in his bedroom, hide him in his closet so he’d be only Jack’s to look at. And Brock would be completely okay with it and it wouldn’t be weird at all.

As he said. A fantasy.

A sound of a shutting door shook Jack out of his reverie, bringing his attention to a new customer. He was tall, as tall as Jack, and muscular, with chiseled arms and chest. He had golden hair, golden skin and a handsome, though plain face with deep blue eyes. He looked a little bit like a Greek god overall. Jack lost interest quickly, his gaze going back to Brock, only the newcomer took the same route, so Jack couldn’t help but follow him with his eyes. Brock looked up and his face lit up. He greeted the newcomer and pulled himself up using the counter as support to reach his lips with his own.

Something cold and heavy dropped in Jack’s stomach – perhaps his own, freshly deceased heart – because _of course_ Brock was already taken. And _of course_ his boyfriend wasn’t anything short of perfect. The golden boy looked like a good guy, the kind who would take Brock out for dinner in a fancy restaurant and not for beer in a dingy pub. He probably drove a nice car, not an expensive one to show off, but big and clean and comfortable, and he opened the door for Brock before getting in himself.

“We’re closing in twenty minutes,” Brock said loud enough for Jack to hear. He was the only customer left.

Jack stood up stiffly, no longer having any reason to linger. How could he ever think Brock would be even mildly interested in a guy like him? He was nothing like the golden boy there that was currently laughing heartily at something Brock said. Jack was all roughness and scars and dirt and danger, full of pent up anger and badly concealed hatred for the world he lived in.

Normally, he wouldn’t say anything, but it was Brock, and Jack strived for contact still, boyfriend or no boyfriend. So he said, “I was just leaving. Goodnight.”

He put on his leather jacket and walked out into the chilly evening. He stopped beside the door, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up with no hurry. He scanned the cars parked in front of him, looking for something the golden boy would own. His eyes locked on a blue Audi. He betted it was his.

He finished his cigarette and lit up a second one. He was finishing it, too, when the couple finally exited the coffee shop. Brock locked the door and they passed by Jack without noticing him. They weren’t holding hands, but walked close enough for their bodies to brush. Brock was a good head shorter than his boyfriend, so if he was to rest his head against his shoulder or chest, he could have done so comfortably. Jack realized that if it was him walking beside Brock, the height difference between them would be about the same.

The couple turned towards the blue Audi and Jack congratulated himself on a correct guess. But they passed the Audi and approached a Harley-Davidson parked beside the car. Because _of course_ Brock’s perfect boyfriend would drive a beautiful Harley-Davidson and not some boring blue car. 

Jack threw the butt of the cigarette on the ground and turned away to walk home.


	3. needing a miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a dark sense of humor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and kudos. They're greatly appreciated. I hope I won't disappoint with where this story is going.

Jack tried to stay away from the coffee shop. Again. It worked for whole three days. On the fourth day, he was on his way home from work, when he changed his mind. He needed his daily dose of Brock, like, three days ago. He could _feel_ the lack of Brock in his veins.

He walked inside the coffee shop with a feeling of defeat, but also with his heart fluttering in his chest. Brock was looking especially good that day, or maybe it was just Jack’s imagination, because he hadn’t seen him in a while. Brock beamed at him as Jack approached to place his order, and he felt a smile tugging at his own lips. It was amazing, how seeing Brock made him feel better instantly, despite the grim memory of the golden boyfriend somewhere in the back of his mind.

After paying, Jack turned to take a seat and stopped in his tracks. Bucky was sitting at one of the tables, staring straight ahead, and his expression promised murder. Jack understood the moment he realized Bucky wasn’t alone. Romanoff was sitting on a hassock beside his armchair, leaning in, talking to him. Jack couldn’t help but smirk. He remembered that once, about two years ago, when Bucky suggested going for coffee after work, Romanoff asked if she could join. Once. She didn’t make that mistake again. The question was, what was she doing here now? Jack figured out a while ago she was sweet on Bucky, for whatever reason, because neither Bucky ever tried to be nice to her, nor was he particularly attractive, unless somebody was into greasy hair and blank stares. Maybe she was into this bad boy vibe he was giving off.

Bucky’s eyes suddenly flicked to Jack, as if he sensed he was being watched. He frowned, then his lips broke in a feral smirk. Jack quickly realized his mistake, but it was already too late.

“Rollins,” he called, waving at him.

Romanoff met Jack’s gaze and straightened up, offering a friendly smile.

“Hey, Rollins,” she said. “I thought you bailed on Bucky, so I decided to keep him company.”

Bucky made a face at Jack, and he almost laughed. Almost, because he knew now he had no other choice but to join them and listen to Romanoff’s nonsense. As if he didn’t hear enough of her annoying Russian accent earlier at work.

“Latte,” Brock called behind him.

Jack turned to recover his coffee. He considered grabbing it and speeding out of the coffee shop. But he could feel Bucky’s stare digging into his back. If Jack tried to bail on him, Bucky would hunt him for this, and as much as Jack liked to get into a fight sometimes, get his blood flowing and his knuckles bruised, getting teeth knocked out with a metal fist wouldn’t be pleasant. Not at all.

So he went back to take a seat in an armchair on Romanoff’s other side. She was leaning in Bucky’s personal space again, and thankfully, she didn’t try to engage Jack in the conversation. Did it count as a conversation if there was only one person speaking?

Jack easily tuned her out, and after a while of just silently drinking his coffee and watching Brock, he decided to practice his espionage skills by taking secret pics of the barista on his smartphone. He figured that if he had a picture of him to look at whenever he felt like it, he wouldn’t need to see the real thing. Soon, Brock’s beauty would get old, Jack’s feelings would fade, and he would be able to get on with his life. Sounded like a perfect plan.

“You know, normal people just add each other on Facebook.”

Jack nearly dropped his phone. He looked up to meet Bucky’s amused gaze. So his espionage skills weren’t the best. He wasn’t a spy.

“I didn’t give you permission to speak,” he muttered.

Romanoff’s hassock was thankfully empty, but if Bucky noticed what Jack was doing, she probably did, too. Dammit.

“I don’t need a permission.” Bucky had his eyebrows raised.

“You realize that I’m only hanging out with you because you don’t speak unasked?” Jack looked back at his phone. He took a gorgeous picture of Brock staring out a window with a dreamy expression.

“And here I was thinking it was _me_ hanging out with _you_ out of pity because nobody likes you.”

“It’s not like you have a shitload of friends either.”

“Touché.” Bucky pouted. “Seriously, though. Add him on Facebook.”

“What makes you think I have a Facebook?”

Bucky blinked as sudden realization of who he was talking to dawned on him. “Right.” He shrugged. “Then register. What’s the problem? I could use another friend, nobody’s liking my selfies.”

“I’m not gonna like your selfies.” This conversation was getting ridiculous. This was exactly why Jack didn’t talk to people. “And I’m not getting a Facebook account. He wouldn’t add me anyway.”

Bucky turned around in his seat and looked Brock up and down. “He’s pretty,” he decided finally, turning back to face Jack. “ _I_ ’d give it a try, but _I_ ’m not a chicken.”

“Me neither,” Jack snarled. “It’s not about that. He has a boyfriend.”

Bucky shrugged. “Boyfriends come and boyfriends go.”

“But you didn’t _see_ him. If you were to look up a definition for perfection, his picture would be there. He’s like, like a god or something.” And Jack was already pouring his heart out too much, but this whole thing had been bugging him for over a week and he hadn’t been himself.

“He’s just a person, Rollins,” Bucky said softly. “People come and go. Shit happens.”

Jack frowned. “So what, you want me to wait for something to happen to this guy? Yeah, good luck with that. I could wait fucking forever.”

“I never said anything about waiting.”

Jack stared at Bucky dumbfounded. Bucky stared back with cold dead eyes.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” Jack leaned in and lowered his voice. “Bucky, we’re _cops_.”

“Yes, we are,” Bucky agreed. “How many murders did we rule out as accidents or suicides?”

Jack swallowed, his pulse loud in his ears. How could Bucky talk so calmly about something like this? He was working with a psychopath.

More importantly, why was _Jack_ thinking about it? His mind was already working fast, thinking of the ways he could kill the golden boyfriend and make it look like an accident. He shook his head, wanting to get rid of unwanted thoughts, but the damage was done, the idea already planted. And it would grow, should Jack nurse it. It would be best if they changed the subject, even better if they stopped talking at all.

“I’m back,” Romanoff announced as she came back from the restroom. “Whatcha talking about?”

“Murder,” Bucky replied matter-of-factly. Jack would punch him if he could reach his face.

“So nothing out of ordinary,” Romanoff said.

Bucky smirked.


	4. dreams they come/dreams they go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack needs to chill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for your comments - it's great to know somebody's enoying this silly story :)

Jack was following the golden boyfriend out of curiosity rather than because he really planned to kill him. Sure, there was a Taser and an axe in his trunk, and an empty syringe on the passenger seat. The streets were empty and dark. The boyfriend was jogging with headphones on; he wouldn’t even hear if anybody were to sneak up and jump him from behind. But there were traffic cameras, and lights in windows of the houses the boyfriend was passing by. Anybody could walk out anytime. Even if they didn’t, and Jack concealed his face with a hood and a balaclava (that he didn’t have), the murder would be traced back to him in less than twenty-four hours.

The golden boyfriend halted in front of one of the houses. Jack stopped the car as well. The door opened and Jack’s heart skipped a beat as Brock stepped outside.

He should have seen it coming, really.

He watched with mixed feelings as the couple kissed and then walked back inside. It was late; the boyfriend was certainly gonna stay the night. Jack scowled and shook his head. He shouldn’t be here. Stupid Bucky and his psychopathic ideas.

The following day found Jack a little hungover in the passenger seat of his team’s police car on a boring patrol. They had been driving around for hours, and he was going through his second pack of cigarettes, not because he needed them, but to piss Wilson off. Sure, his bitching about it was annoying, but also satisfying.

“Seriously man, passive smoking is worse than active. Barnes, Nat and I are at bigger risk right now than you are. If I get cancer, you’re paying my medical bills.”

Jack didn’t think Wilson’s grumbling was worthy of an answer. Bucky, who was driving, extended his left hand towards Jack.

“Give me.”

“Not you, too,” Wilson whined.

“No,” Jack replied tersely.

Bucky glared daggers at him. “Give. Me.”

“Buy your own.”

“Just give him the fucking pack before he kills us all,” Romanoff said from behind Jack.

Jack was about to tell her off, but Bucky indeed kept glaring at him instead of watching the road, so he sighed and handed Bucky the pack. Bucky rolled down the window and threw it out.

“The hell!” Jack protested.

“Thank you!” Wilson exclaimed in relief at the same time.

“Shut the fuck up, both of you,” Bucky said. “Or I’ll crash into a tree.”

Everybody fell silent after that. Jack would’ve laughed, but he was still bitter over losing his cigarettes. Having finished his smoke, he rolled the window up. The radio crackled and a male voice announced a gunfight in a Starbucks near the base. Jack tensed. It was their Starbucks, the one where Brock worked at.

“Alpha one, we’ll be there in about three minutes,” Bucky said flatly to the radio and sped up the car, turning on the sirens. “Fucking dicks,” he said with much more heat. “I actually like that place.”

“Who starts shooting in a coffee shop?” Wilson asked, bewildered.

“Maybe it was a robbery.” Romanoff shrugged.

“In a coffee shop?”

“Maybe someone got mad at the overpriced Gingerbread Latte.”

Jack wished they would shut up. He wished they would shut up all the time he worked with them, but now they were really getting on his nerves. They had fun while Brock could be in danger. He hoped Brock didn’t start his shift yet.

They arrived at the place after exactly three minutes like Bucky said. Wilson stayed outside to question the witnesses. Jack, Bucky and Romanoff burst inside the coffee shop, guns drawn out.

“Freeze, police!”

The customers were kneeling under the tables and hiding behind the armchairs. The shooter was standing behind the counters, near the door leading to the back office. When he saw the cops enter, he panicked and grabbed the person standing the closest to him. Jack froze; it was Brock. The shooter wrapped his arm around his shoulders and dug his gun underneath Brock’s jaw. Brock raised his hands defensively, but there was nothing else he could do.

“Get back or I’ll kill him!” the shooter yelled.

“Calm down,” Natasha said, putting her gun away and showing him her empty hands. “We mean you no harm. We only want to help.”

She obviously didn’t take Jack’s feelings under consideration, because he wanted to harm the shooter. Badly.

There was a guy sitting on the floor against the wall, clenching his leg. He was bleeding. Bucky crouched next to him to check on him; Jack moved before them with his gun trained on the shooter to cover them.

“I’m Natasha,” Romanoff said to the shooter. “What’s your name?”

“I won’t tell.”

“What happened?” Bucky asked the wounded man behind Jack’s back.

“He fucking shot me in the leg!”

“Do you know him?”

“Yes, he’s my friend! He’s unstable, arrest him.”

“I don’t want for anybody to get hurt,” Romanoff kept talking to the shooter. “Let the man go. You’re only making your situation worse. I can help you if you let him go.”

Jack had a clear shot. It took a lot of self-control not to pull the trigger. The only thing stopping him was the shooter’s finger resting on the trigger; even if Jack killed him, the gun could fire, killing Brock as well. So he stood still as Romanoff tried to coax the man into letting Brock go and discussed his issues. He was getting impatient. He wasn’t trained to talk to people; he was trained to shoot them.

He more felt than heard Bucky stand up and move behind a wall separating the coffee bar area from the rest of the shop. When the shooter started breaking down and let Brock go, Bucky didn’t waste any time and fired from a Taser. The man dropped to the floor, screaming and shaking. Jack got to him first; he ripped out the electrodes and manhandled the man onto his stomach, shoving his face into the floor.

“I got it from here,” Bucky said above him, pulling out a pair of cuffs. “Better check on Brock.”

As much as Jack wanted to break the incapacitated man’s face, he also wanted to make sure that Brock was okay. He was standing a few steps away along with Romanoff and watching the scene before him with a shocked expression.

“An ambulance will be here soon,” Romanoff said.

“I’m fine,” Brock insisted, his eyes flicking to Jack who approached them. His pupils were dilated, his face pale and breathing quick, but otherwise he looked okay.

“Are you sure?” Jack asked, giving him a once over. “Didn’t he hurt you?”

“No. He just scared me. I won’t die from that.”

“So what exactly happened here?”

Romanoff went away towards the wounded man.

“I’m not sure,” Brock replied. “He was fighting with the guy over there, and then I heard a shot. I called the police and he got angry, tried to stop me.” He shrugged. “Then he couldn’t decide if he should kill me or rob me, or run. Not very smart, if you ask me.”

Jack nodded in agreement. It was the longest Brock ever spoke to him and he found that he actually liked to listen. He had a pleasant voice, low and husky. Jack wouldn’t mind having stupid conversations with him, if that meant he could listen to that voice. Hell, Brock could recite vegan recipes and Jack would listen to him for hours.

“So, you’re a cop.”

Jack blinked. “Sorry?”

“You come here often. I didn’t know you were a cop. I already feel safer knowing that now.” Brock offered a charming smile and if Jack wasn’t already under his spell, he’d fall for him instantly.

“I wish I was here when it started. Could’ve prevented all this.”

Brock shrugged. “You can’t be everywhere.”

“Rollins, quit romanticizing the poor barista and come here. We have a situation on 4th,” said Romanoff’s voice in Jack’s earpiece.

If he had any doubts about her seeing him taking pictures of Brock earlier, now he was sure she did.


	5. open up your window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legal and illegal has nothing to do with right and wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. The dreaded Google Translate Russian chapter. I am so, so sorry.
> 
> I did try to confirm what GT told me with other available sources like Wiktionary and "Dirty Words Dictionary" from 1991 I happen to own. It doesn't change the fact I know nothing about Russian.

“ _Ty poluchil yego nomer?_ ” Bucky asked as they drove back to the police station.

Jack glanced at him gloomily. “ _Nyet._ ”

Everybody thought Bucky was either Russian or spent a huge chunk of his life in Russia. The truth was much simpler: as Bucky admitted once to Jack, he spoke Russian or with a Russian accent sometimes, because it annoyed people. Wilson was already scowling at them from the backseat, mad that he couldn’t understand what they were talking about. Jack was sure he would be annoyed, too, if he didn’t happen to be fluent in Russian. In hindsight, that was probably one of the things that brought him and Bucky together.

“ _Neudachnik_ ,” Bucky said.

Jack frowned. “ _Idi na khuy. Ya govoril tebe u nego yest paren._ ”

“Can’t you shut up?” Wilson snapped.

Bucky glared at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

“And you know what I told you about that,” he said to Jack with his Russian accent lingering.

“ _Ya ne ubyu yego_ ,” Jack argued, too preoccupied with Bucky encouraging him to commit murder to care about Wilson’s problems.

“That’s so not what I was suggesting.”

“Don’t fucking lie now. I understood what you meant.”

“Clearly you did not. I never said you should _ubit yego_. _Prosto naymi professionala_ , jeez.”

Jack dropped his head in his hands and sighed. Fucking Bucky planting fucking ideas in his head.

“You’re both huge dicks,” Wilson said. “I’m never teaming up with you again.”

“It’s not for you to decide,” Bucky reminded him.

Bucky parked in the base’s garage. Wilson was the first to exit the car. He shut the door much harder than it was necessary.

“I hate him,” Bucky muttered, his cold eyes following their coworker until he disappeared behind the locker room door.

Jack didn’t say anything to that. He knew Bucky didn’t really hate Wilson. If their team was family, then Wilson was the equivalent of an annoying little brother. You liked to torment him, but you’d also punch everyone who posed a threat to him.

“Seriously though, the perfect boyfriend aside – the guy flirts with you and you don’t take his number?”

Jack groaned into his hands. Bucky wasn’t letting the topic go anytime soon, it seemed.

“He wasn’t flirting,” he said as his hands slipped down his face and onto his lap.

“I feel so safe with you around, officer sir,” Bucky lowered his voice in a mocking impression of Brock. Jack punched his arm.

“You were eavesdropping?”

“I was right behind you.”

“You weren’t that close,” Jack argued. “I swear you have some kind of superhearing.” He squinted at Bucky’s metal prosthetic. “It’s your arm, isn’t it? You have mics hidden in there.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yes, you saw right through me.”

He exited the car and hurried towards the locker room. Jack followed suit.

“I don’t think our Starbucks is open,” he said.

Bucky nodded in agreement. “Brock probably got the rest of the day off anyway,” he added.

Jack showered, changed into his civvies and said goodbye to his teammates. He didn’t leave right away, though; instead, he sneaked into the room with supplies and, having made sure nobody saw him, he snatched a small carton box.

The box was sitting in his glove box until next week. He parked in front of Brock’s house when he knew for sure that it was empty. He opened the glove box, but hesitated.

What he was about to do was illegal. He could lose his job over this if somebody were to find out and report him. But illegal didn’t mean wrong, and Jack had good intentions. It was about Brock’s safety. Jack was ready to sacrifice his job if that meant he could keep an eye on his crush.

Besides, he already stole the police property. There was no turning back now.

He grabbed the carton box and got out of the car. He opened one of the windows easily and slipped inside the house. He jumped down from the windowsill and looked around. He found himself in a small kitchen. It was so clean, it looked like new. The smell of cleaning agents lingered in the air. Even Jack’s dearly departed grandma didn’t have a kitchen so spotless.

Jack’s eyes started watering suddenly, and he felt scratching in his throat. Something warm rubbed against his leg and he almost jumped out of his skin in surprise. He looked down. A small, black kitty looked back at him. It mewed and ran away through the door.

Jack sniffed and wiped his eyes. It was just his luck Brock owned the only pet Jack was allergic to.

He opened the box, revealing four small cameras. He climbed back on the windowsill to plant one in the top corner of the room. He reminded himself again it was for Brock’s safety. And that it would allow Jack to watch him outside the coffee shop, dressed in something else than the Starbucks apron, well, that was a bonus.

He tried to plant the cameras quickly while taking in as much details of Brock’s living space as possible. All the other rooms, including the bedroom, were as clean as the kitchen. There was not a single wrinkle on the bedspread, and Jack was sure that if he peeked into the closet, all the clothes would be carefully folded. The only thing out of place was black cat hair; from its placing on the bedspread, Jack could tell in which spot exactly the cat liked to curl to sleep.

“A neatfreak, huh?” Jack muttered to himself. His voice was already raspy from the allergy, so he hurried up with his camera planting.

He exited the house through the same window when he was done. When he got back to his car, he turned on his laptop to check if everything worked; it did. Convincing himself he did a right thing, he closed the laptop and drove off Brock’s driveway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If GT didn't lie to me, the translations are:
> 
> Ty poluchil yego nomer? - Did you take his number?  
> Neudachnik - Loser  
> Idi na khuy. Ya govoril tebe u nego yest paren. - Fuck off. I told you he has a boyfriend.  
> Ya ne ubyu yego - I won't kill him  
> ubit yego. Prosto naymi professionala - kill him. Just hire a professional


	6. one more episode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets more than he bargained for.

Jack’s lazy Saturdays usually started with a cigarette, a mug of instant coffee and reading news on his phone.

That day, Jack decided the only news he cared about was how Brock was doing. He opened the laptop and turned on the view from the cameras planted in Brock’s apartment. He smiled to himself when he found out that Brock, already dressed in a tight black tee and a pair of jeans, was doing exactly the same thing: sitting at a table in his dining room with a cup of black coffee, typing on his phone. He smiled at the screen, and it was almost like he was smiling back at Jack.

Having reminded himself that the cameras were there for Brock’s safety and not for disturbing his privacy, Jack closed the laptop with a heavy heart and finished up his coffee. The day was sunny and warm, so he went for a jog, and when he got back, he grabbed a book he started reading a few weeks ago and settled on the couch in the living room. He opened it, but didn’t even finish the first sentence when his mind drifted off. He lost himself in his little fantasy again. He asked Brock out and they sat in a dingy pub, drinking horse piss of a beer, but this time, Brock wasn’t just sitting silently, careful not to bother Jack. He was telling a funny anecdote, like actual funny, and not lame like Wilson often did. Then the topic shifted to Brock’s boyfriend somehow, and Brock suddenly stopped smiling. His voice lowered as he admitted that his boyfriend (whom Jack’s sleepy mind named Alex for some reason) was physically abusing him. Blood boiled in Jack’s veins as he covered Brock’s hands with his and promised him Alex would never touch him again.

The scene shifted and Jack was standing in a dark alley littered with trash, hovering over Alex’s dead body. His hands and head were chopped off. Jack was clenching an axe. His hands were sticky with blood.

“What did I tell you?” Bucky was standing beside him, regarding the body before them with disinterest. “ _Naymi professionala_. They already know it was you, they’re coming after you right as we speak.”

Jack dropped the axe. Police sirens sounded in the distance.

“We have to hide the body.” Bucky grabbed his shoulder and shook.

Jack couldn’t move, couldn’t react. He stared at the headless body in panic.

“Rollins.” Bucky kept shaking him. “Jack. Jackie.”

Jack blinked. Brock was sitting opposite, sipping his beer, his lips smiling around the edge of the glass.

“What did you call me?” Jack asked.

“Officer,” Brock replied, putting the glass down. He was still beaming, the kind of beam he got when he received a text from his boyfriend. “I feel safe with you around, officer sir.”

Jack opened his eyes. He dozed off on the couch, the open book lying on his chest. He closed it and sat up, put it away on the coffee table. He checked the clock – it was nearing four. He stood up with a sigh, went to the kitchen, checked the inside of his fridge and decided to order pizza for dinner. He returned to the living room with a bottle of beer, sat down and opened the laptop to check on Brock. His bedroom, kitchen and dining room were empty. Jack changed the view to the dimly lit living room and immediately shut his eyes.

The golden boyfriend was screwing Brock on the couch.

Taking a deep breath, Jack opened his eyes. The boyfriend was still screwing Brock on the couch. Jack’s heartrate sped up. He should close the laptop. He shouldn’t be watching this. Brock could do with his boyfriend whatever he liked and it was none of Jack’s business.

He leaned in for a better look.

Brock was lying on his back with his legs up in the air, the golden boyfriend settled between them, pounding into him. He was leaning over Brock, almost bending him in half, his back muscles and neck straining, his body shaking with shivers of pleasure.

Brock didn’t seem to be that much into it. His head was tilted away from his boyfriend, facing the camera. A bluish light from the TV flickered on his face. Perhaps Brock was watching a show, or a game.

Jack had never thought about sex with Brock. He had been too distracted with his beautiful face to wonder about his ass and genitals. But now, as he watched him being subjected to this lame lovemaking, he thought he’d do a much better job at keeping him entertained. And then he’d give him a hug, because Brock looked like he needed it.

The boyfriend tensed all over, his mouth open and eyes closed, and Jack realized he was climaxing. He rolled his eyes and seriously considered closing the laptop – which he should’ve done in the first place, really – because he had no desire of getting this intimate with Brock’s boyfriend.

The boyfriend straightened up and pulled Brock’s legs down, resting his feet on the couch. He spread his thighs even further and buried his face between them. Brock’s bored expression shifted; he screwed his eyes shut and bit his lower lip. His hands reached between his legs, probably to grip on his boyfriend’s hair. His chest heaved with quick breaths and his hips arched up—

Jack threw his bottle into the wall. It shattered, beer and glass spraying around. Watching Brock reach climax should’ve aroused him, like watching porn did. But it didn’t; it made him feel angry and jealous, and he needed _out_ —

The bell rang. His pizza arrived.


	7. another new crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack needs help.

Jack reached out to turn off his alarm, but his hand hit the laptop’s keyboard instead. He cracked his eyes open. He fell asleep curled around his laptop to Brock reading something on his phone in the dark. Now it was morning and Brock was already up, wearing only a pair of black boxers and wiping at his eyes. Jack smiled sleepily. It was almost like Brock was here with him, waking up after a night spent together.

Brock opened the closet. Jack was right; not only the clothes inside were carefully folded, they were also color-sorted. Blacks next to blacks next to blacks. Blacks on the lower shelves, blacks on the hangers. Jack’s heart skipped a beat. Was that—no way, was that one t-shirt gray?

Brock grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of cargo pants (both black) and left the bedroom. The living room, the dining room and the kitchen remained empty, so Jack guessed he went to the bathroom.

He took a deep breath and got up himself. He opened his own closet and dug through his crumpled clothes until he found something that still smelled more like detergent than sweat and deodorant. He should have done the laundry last week. He would have, but he got distracted with watching Brock play with his cat for two hours.

He disconnected the laptop from the charger and took it with himself to the kitchen. Once he sat down at the table with a mug of instant coffee, Brock was already in his own kitchen, fully dressed and with his hair carefully done. He turned on the coffee maker and waited for dark liquid to fill his cup. Then he moved to the dining room and sat down, pulled out his phone from his pocket and busied himself with it.

“Good morning,” Jack muttered to the laptop. Then, in a lower voice, he replied, “Good morning, Rollins.”

He took a sip of his coffee.

“I need to see a shrink.”

When Jack and Bucky hit the Starbucks to buy their usual lattes, Jack found it hard to look Brock in the eyes. He saw him naked. He saw him having sex with his boyfriend. And it was those thoughts that sprang to his mind when he approached Brock to place his order, so he kept his eyes fixed on his hands.

“Oh no, please. On the house,” Brock said when Jack pulled out his wallet to pay, and it finally made him look up. Brock was a little worn out after the whole day, his eyes circled and his hairdo not so perfect anymore, a few strands falling loosely upon his forehead. The sight was still as breathtaking as it was the first day Jack noticed him.

“What?” he asked stupidly.

“You saved my life,” Brock explained.

Jack felt heat rising from his chest up to his face.

_Fuck._

Too taken aback to argue, he pulled out a couple of banknotes, not even paying attention to nominals, and shoved them into the tip jar. Brock didn’t protest.

“Do I get a free coffee, too?” Bucky’s face was perfectly neutral, but his eyes glimmered with amusement. Jack wanted to kill him. “It was me who incapacitated that guy, you know.”

“Of course,” Brock replied, “I can’t thank you enough. Do you want a donut gratis?”

“Sure.” Bucky grinned. He never refused free food.

“We were just doing our job,” Jack said as soon as he got his ability to think clearly back. Which was when Brock turned on the coffee maker, so there was a huge chance he didn’t even hear him.

Bucky did, though. He looked up in thought.

“You know, we didn’t go exactly by the book,” he muttered. “I didn’t need to tase him. He’d come quietly.”

“You never know,” Jack argued. “The guy was unstable and holding a gun. He got what was coming to him.”

“Well, maybe.” Bucky nodded slightly. “But you know what I’m certain wasn’t necessary? You making him eat the floor.”

Jack shrugged. Bucky was not wrong.

“You’d break his face if I didn’t stop you.”

Jack shrugged again. Bucky was still not wrong.

“And I thought it was me who had a thing for unnecessary violence.”

“Shut up,” Jack snarled, because Brock was standing before them with two huge paper cups in his hands, and if he didn’t hear the whole conversation, he certainly did the last bit. Jack didn’t want Brock to think he was some kind of a mindless brute. Which he sort of was, but that was not the point.

Jack and Bucky took their coffee and were about to leave to take a seat when Brock also handed them two plates with donuts on them.

“I can’t take it,” Jack said, because really, Brock’s salary couldn’t be big enough to offer them overpriced coffee _and_ donuts for free.

“I will.” Bucky shoved his cup into Jack’s hand. “Hold it for me, will ya?”

He relieved Brock from the plates. “Thanks, Brock. You’re a good man. I’m actually glad that guy didn’t shoot you,” he said cheerfully and walked away.

Jack really wanted to kill him.

Brock stared after Bucky with his eyes wide, then raised an eyebrow at Jack.

“It means he likes you,” Jack muttered.

“I’m honored.” Brock’s voice was laced with amusement.

That was when Jack’s lack of social skills showed. Not knowing what to say to that, he just followed Bucky to the booth he picked. Thankfully, Brock had a new customer to attend to, so maybe it didn’t turn out as awkward as Jack thought.

Bucky managed to go through both of his donuts and a half of his coffee when the door opened and in walked the golden boyfriend. Jack slumped down in his seat a little.

“Shit,” he muttered, loud enough to pique Bucky’s interest.

“What?” he asked.

“That’s him, that’s the boyfriend.”

Bucky looked up from his coffee, his gaze wandering until it locked on the brawny blond.

“Holy shit,” he almost hissed.

“I told you,” Jack said gloomily.

“That’s Steve Rogers!”

“Oh, so you know him.”

“We went to school together. But he was smaller.” Bucky looked Steve up and down. “Much, much smaller.”

He sprang to his feet suddenly, gracefully like a cat.

“What are you doing?” Jack hissed at him when he walked away towards Steve who was chatting up Brock at the cash register.

“Being nice,” Bucky replied matter-of-factly.

“You don’t know how! Come back here!”

Bucky waved at him to shut up. Jack watched him approach Steve and strike up a conversation. He couldn’t hear what Bucky said, but Steve smiled happily as a shadow of recognition crossed his face. Jack tensed when Bucky pointed with his thumb at him, and even more when Steve followed him to their booth.

“Hello,” Steve said, extending his hand. “Steve Rogers, Bucky’s friend from school.”

If looks could kill, Bucky would be dead. Like, years ago.

“Rollins,” Jack grumbled out. “I don’t shake hands.”

Steve dropped his hand, his happy smile fading.

“Totally my fault!” Bucky was quick to chime in. “Totally crushed his hand once!” He showed off his metal hand. “Gave him a trauma.”

“Oh.” Steve’s smile slipped back into place. “Really?”

Jack raised his eyebrow at Bucky. It was a total bullshit, of course. Bucky wasn’t left-handed, and even if he was, he’d know better than to crush someone else’s hand.

“Be nice,” Bucky mouthed behind Steve’s shoulder.

If looks could kill, Bucky would be dead. Again.

“You look strong,” Jack managed out. “Don’t wanna risk it.” He raised a corner of his mouth in a caricature of a smile.

“I was just saying Bucky and I should meet for dinner sometime, catch up. You should come, too. I’d like to meet Bucky’s friends. He’s always been a good judge of character.”

If looks could—okay, this was getting old.

“We’re—” not friends, Jack wanted to say, but Bucky must have sensed he was about to say something nasty.

“Interested!” he finished for him. “How about you give me your number and I’ll get back to you on that?”

“Sure.” Steve fumbled in his pockets for a moment before pulling out a shabby business card. “Uh, sorry, that’s the only one I have.”

“You’re a comic book artist?” Bucky asked as he skimmed over the card. “Right, you were always sketching something in that little book of yours.” He looked up at Jack. “He’s really good.”

It was really the nicest Jack had ever seen him. Frankly, he didn’t think Bucky was capable of being so kind. Where did he learn that?

Steve’s cheeks flushed from the praise. The last time Jack saw him like that, he was naked between Brock’s thighs—great, now Jack was blushing as well.

“Uh, thanks,” Steve said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Uh, excuse me, but I’m actually here to see my boyfriend. He’s the barista.” He turned to wave at Brock. Brock beamed at him and waved back.

“Really? He’s such a nice person. You should bring him to dinner, too. I’d like to get to know him better.”

“I’ll ask him. I look forward to your call.” Steve looked down at Jack. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Jack lied.

Steve walked away to stop at the cash register. Bucky sat down beside Jack with a smug expression on his face.

“You owe me,” he said, picked up his paper cup and took a sip.


	8. taco night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack goes on a date.

“What are you wearing?” Bucky asked over the phone an hour before their dinner with Brock and Steve.

“A hoodie and a pair of jeans.”

“You can’t wear that to a date with Brock,” Bucky protested. “Get changed.”

“It’s not a date and his boyfriend is gonna be there.” Jack checked himself in the mirror inside his closet, now that Bucky started the topic of his appearance. He hadn’t changed since his morning jog.

“You wanna look nice. Trust me. Wear a button up or something. And a nice pair of jeans, not the one you always wear.”

Jack looked down at the jeans he always wore. “What’s wrong with my jeans?”

“They’re old. Oh, and whatever you end up wearing, iron it for once.”

“What are you, my mom?” Jack snarled.

He turned the speaker on and set the phone on his nightstand to shimmy out of the jeans he always wore. He liked them, they were comfortable, but Bucky was right – they were far from nice looking. And probably needed a wash, too.

“I’m your best friend,” Bucky replied matter-of-factly.

“You really aren’t,” Jack protested. “You’re not even my friend. You’re my worst enemy. Because this isn’t a date with Brock, you know what this is? This is watching him flirt with his boyfriend for God knows how long.”

And he had already seen a fair share of that. Steve was at Brock’s _right now_ , and they had been going at it for a while now. It had made Jack’s stomach clench with nausea.

He sighed and flopped on his unmade bed, the jeans still in hand. “I’m not going.”

“Don’t be like that. I did this for you. Don’t back away now.”

“You just enjoy watching me suffer, don’t you?”

“You got me.” Bucky’s voice was perfectly emotionless, so Jack couldn’t tell if he was being honest or sarcastic.

“Why?” Jack asked his ceiling, or maybe some higher power there above it all. “What did I do to deserve you?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Bucky answered anyway, “Remember that time when I was starving and forgot my wallet and you bought me a sandwich? And I proclaimed my undying love for you?”

“Yeees…” Jack squinted suspiciously.

“That’s why. That’s what you get for being nice.” Bucky snickered.

“I’ve never regretted anything more in my entire life.”

They contemplated in silence for a while before Bucky finally sighed and offered, “How about you dress real nicely and I pick you up and drive you there and pay for your dinner?”

“Deal,” Jack agreed after a moment, because maybe dinner with Steve wasn’t what he wanted, but hey, at least it was gonna be free.

“Great. Be ready at six.” Bucky hung up and immediately, Jack felt he made a huge mistake, but it was too late now.

Bucky arrived at six sharp. He made an effort to look good himself, his usual polo shirt and worn jeans replaced with a red jumper and a pair of pants that looked new. Jack wore a gray button up like Bucky told him to.

“Guess what year it is,” Bucky greeted him as Jack sat down in the passenger’s seat.

He frowned. “Huh?”

“2017,” Bucky replied as he drove off. “Shocking, I know. Your hairdo thinks it’s still the nineties.”

Jack scowled. “You’re in no position to mock my hair, yours looks like it’s never seen a shampoo.”

“Do you know how hard it is to wash it when one of your hands is metal?”

“You need someone to do it for you? Aww, you could just ask me,” Jack mocked.

“Careful, I might take you up on that offer,” Bucky warned. “And enjoy it. Thoroughly. You’d have nightmares about it.”

They parked in front of a Tex-Mex restaurant.

“Mexican?” Jack raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t your stomach too delicate for that?” Bucky had a strict diet he often complained about.

“I can handle some tacos,” he said matter-of-factly. “Technically, I shouldn’t drink coffee either, but fuck it, that shit is good.”

Jack smirked at that. He was about to unbuckle and get out of the car, when Bucky stopped him with his hand on Jack’s forearm.

“I know it’s genetically impossible for you to be nice, but try not to fuck it up,” he said. “Brock seems to like you, God help him. This is your only chance to woo him. You make a bad impression now, he won’t want to see you again.”

“Like if I wasn’t already stressed enough,” Jack deadpanned. “Thanks, Uncle Good Advice.”

The inside of the restaurant was busy at this hour, and Jack was thankful for that. Usually he wasn’t very fond of crowds, but nothing stressed him out more than empty restaurants with bored staff watching him eat. Brock and Steve were already occupying one of the tables, and got up to greet them when they approached.

“Steve, that’s them,” Brock said. “That’s the guys who saved my life. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Steve beamed at Bucky. “So you are the cops he can’t stop talking about?”

“It’s not like that,” Brock protested, color rising in his cheeks. Jack had never thought about another human as adorable, but there was a first time for everything. “I’m just very grateful. And impressed with competence of our police.”

Bucky replied something to that, but Jack wasn’t listening. He sat down opposite Brock and thought back to his little fantasy. It was finally coming true. Sure, neither Bucky nor Steve were a part of it, if one didn’t count his weird dream about the headless body, but baby steps were better than no progress at all.

Bucky and Steve mainly reminisced about their school times and amused Brock with their anecdotes. Jack wasn’t following the conversation and he stayed silent, admiring Brock’s beauty. He was now fairly familiar with the bone structure of his face, and while he still appreciated it, it didn’t amaze him as much anymore. It was a good thing, maybe his infatuation would fade soon and he could get on with his life.

Opposite to his worries, Brock and Steve didn’t show much affection towards each other. They acted more like good friends, and if one didn’t know, they wouldn’t be able to tell they were actually a couple. Still, Jack didn’t like the way Steve looked at Brock everytime he made him laugh, with adoration and amazement, like he just hit the jackpot and couldn’t quite believe it. It ruined the experience of the “date”. Brock kept smiling at Steve, but he was also smiling at Bucky, and it was such a pretty smile, heartwarming and contagious, that Jack didn’t mind at all.

It was a pity Brock didn’t talk much, letting Steve lead the conversation instead. Just like Jack couldn’t get enough of his face, his hair, the artery he could see pulsing beneath the skin on the side of his neck whenever he turned to look at Steve, he couldn’t get enough of the sound of his voice, husky in the most attractive way.

Suddenly Brock laughed at something Steve said and looked straight at Jack. No longer distracted with his cheekbones, Jack’s attention focused on his eyes. In the dim Starbucks they looked brown, but in the well-lit restaurant, Jack noticed he actually had central heterochromia, the brown near the pupil turning into dark green. He also had darker specks beneath the pupils.

They were captivating. Jack couldn’t look away. He’d keep those eyes along with the skull.

Fuck.

Suddenly, Bucky’s cold, metal hand clasped his wrist. For one scary moment Jack thought it was because he was drooling or doing something equally embarrassing, but thankfully it turned out Steve just asked him a question.

“You haven’t said anything,” Steve observed with a shy smile.

Jack was about to congratulate him on his perceptiveness, but bit his tongue in the nick of time. He was supposed to be nice. He could do this. He’d think about something nice to say. Any minute now.

“He’s not very talkative,” Bucky said with a sigh. “If it wasn’t for me, nobody’d know what his voice sounds like.”

And Jack glared daggers at him, because seriously. Bucky was supposed to help him, not further humiliate him. Bucky offered an encouraging smile, but inside he was shaking with laughter. Jack could see it in his eyes.

“So how did you two meet?” Steve asked as Jack made plans to tase Bucky in the ass.

“At work.” Bucky shrugged. “He saved my life.”

“Really?” Steve looked at Jack for confirmation. Brock also looked interested, his eyes flicking from Jack to Bucky and back.

“I forgot my wallet. He bought me a sandwich.”

Steve blinked then burst in laughter. “I swear you’re a drama queen,” he said.

“I could die,” Bucky argued. “I could starve to death.” He pointed at Jack and looked at Brock and Steve seriously. “This guy? A superhero.”

The conversation shifted to how Steve and Brock met (at a gym, apparently). Jack tuned them out again, focusing on watching Brock. He noticed he was smiling less and less and sensed tension radiating off him. Jack shifted in his chair. He could tell something was wrong. When he followed Brock’s line of sight, he realized Bucky still had his hand resting on his wrist. He whisked it off.

Brock tapped Steve on the shoulder. “It’s getting late,” he said quietly.

Steve looked at a clock hanging on the opposite wall in surprise. “It’s not even eight yet.”

“I have to get up early in the morning, remember?” Annoyance was evident in Brock’s voice.

“Right,” Steve said, frowning, and looked at Bucky and Jack apologetically. “Excuse us.”

“No problem, we’re getting up early tomorrow, too,” Bucky was quick to say.

They asked for the check, and when it arrived, Bucky and Steve split it between themselves. Brock and Steve said goodbye then, and promised to keep in touch. Jack made an exception to his made-up rule and shook Brock’s hand (still not Steve’s though).

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Bucky asked as he drove Jack home. The sky was dark already, and it started to rain.

“It reminded me why I don’t meet up with people.” Jack rubbed his temples. All the stress was only now leaving him, quickly replaced with a migraine. “I’m exhausted.”

“Aw, shut up, you big wimp.” Bucky frowned.

“See, you’re snapping. Don’t pretend being so nice all the time didn’t emotionally strain you.”

“I totally wanna run over pedestrians right now,” Bucky admitted. “But I wanna do it all the time, since they always cross the street where they’re not fucking supposed to!” He honked at a kid that ran right in front of his car. “Maybe I wouldn’t be so ‘emotionally strained’ if you said a goddamn thing. I gave you a one in a million opportunity to sweep Brock off his feet. Why didn’t you do anything?”

“Have you met me?” Jack barked. “Do you really think I’d be able to sweep _anyone_ off their feet? _Especially_ Brock? I’m way out of his league and you know it.”

“What I know is that he definitely likes you,” Bucky argued. “Or. Have liked you, until tonight, because you were as charming and entertaining as a corpse.”

Jack didn’t respond to that. Bucky was obviously looking for a fight and he was too tired for that. He had a feeling Bucky was gonna take it out on Wilson first thing in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta admit, you were all so excited for this dinner date and what I had written was so dull in comparision, that I decided to revise it. I didn't change much, just spiced it up a little, so maybe it still didn't end up as exiciting as it could have. Either way, thank you so much for your comments - you help me make this story better. You can give yourself, like, 12% of credit ;)
> 
> This also ended up to be the longest chapter in this story because of that.


	9. man, that coffee's well made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quiet before the storm.

Jack spent the following day growling at anybody who dared to speak to him, until Bucky ordered their team to just leave him alone. It was another lazy day at work, spent mostly on patrolling the streets. After everyone got it that they shouldn’t bother him, Jack pulled out his earpiece and put in earphones to muffle Romanov’s annoying chatter with The Clash. He’d close his eyes, too, if he wasn’t hundred percent sure that his teammates would use this opportunity to pull a prank on him, and he definitely wasn’t in the mood to deal with their shit that day.

When they finished work, Jack left the base before Bucky was even out of the shower. He sat in his car for a while, wondering. He was tired after a day of staying in one car with three other people, and going to the coffee shop to sit among noisy strangers some more was the last thing he needed. But he wanted to see Brock again. He just knew that simply the sight of his face would make him feel better instantly.

He could just buy his coffee and get out. Nodding to himself, he started up the car and drove off to Starbucks.

The first person he saw when he entered the coffee shop was Steve, leaning against the coffee bar beside the cash register and clenching a huge paper cup. Jack’s first impulse was to turn and leave, but Steve, who was facing the door, already noticed him and waved.

With a heart in his throat and his head light, Jack approached him. Brock looked up at him from behind the cash register.

“Hi.” He smiled, but it seemed forced.

“Hi,” Jack replied.

He studied Brock’s face. The corners of his mouth were barely raised, and he looked sad. Jack wanted to ask whose skull he should crack. He hoped it was Steve who upset Brock. Jack would gladly crack his skull.

“How are you?” he asked instead, his eyes flicking to Steve in the last moment to include him in the conversation, although he didn’t give a damn how Steve was.

“Good,” Brock lied, because the longer Jack looked at him, the more apparent it became Brock was far from okay. Steve nodded to indicate he was good, too. “You?”

“Good,” Jack replied, though it wasn’t exactly true either.

“Latte, right?” Brock moved to the coffee maker, not waiting for Jack’s confirmation. Even his voice sounded sad.

What happened?

“Last night was fun.” Steve took a sip from his cup. According to the writing on it, it contained a Caramel Macchiato. “We should go on a double date again sometime.”

Jack blinked. “Double date?”

Did Steve somehow figure out it was a date? Did it count as a double date if Brock went with both Steve and Jack on it? More importantly, was Steve okay with it? And he wanted to repeat it? Maybe that was why Brock was sad. Maybe he didn’t want to repeat it. Jack’s blood turned cold when he thought that he could be the cause of Brock’s sorrow.

“Yeah, you and Bucky, and Brock and I,” Steve clarified, frowning a little, though he was still smiling. “You’re together, right?”

_Oh_. So that was what Steve meant.

_Wait, what?_

“No, we’re not together. What made you think that?” Jack couldn’t suppress a laugh. The idea was ridiculous, really.

Steve raised his eyebrows. “We just figured, since you arrived together, and he paid for you.”

“And held your hand, and you’re apparently his hero,” Brock cut in, his lips curling into a humorless smile. It was more of a scowl, really.

“I’m…” Jack was at a loss of words. “No. Single.” He pointed at himself with his thumb. “Bucky, too, and trust me, I’m the last person he’d be interested in dating.”

Although, when he thought of it, he was maybe the second last. Wilson would be the last.

Was Bucky even interested in dating at all? The whole time Jack knew him (which was about five years), Bucky never expressed interest in people. Of any gender.

“That’s not what it looked like,” Steve said, a little bewildered. “Maybe you should look into it. You’d be good together. Unless you don’t swing that way?”

“I do swing that way,” Jack said maybe a little too fast, but he didn’t want Brock to think otherwise. Not that it mattered. “I swing both ways,” he clarified, though again, it didn’t really matter. Not to mention that currently, he only swung Brock’s way.

Steve smiled brightly. “Well, then.”

“No. Bucky and I are not a good match. We’d kill each other.” It was a wonder they didn’t yet rip each other’s throats.

Steve smiled at Brock meaningfully. “Sounds like love to me.”

“Mm.” Brock handed Jack a cup of freshly made coffee, not even looking at him. Jack clearly saw his jaw moving beneath his skin as he gritted his teeth. Again, he found himself yearning to touch, to caress that stubbled cheek and promise to fix whatever it was that wronged him.

Suddenly, he remembered he didn’t pay, so he pulled out his card.

“Oh no, you don’t pay here,” Brock said when he noticed. His voice strained to sound polite, but there was a note of anger evident.

Jack’s hand dropped.

“You’ll go bankrupt.” He pulled out a wad of banknotes, counted out the right amount and put it in the tip jar. Once again, Brock didn’t protest.

“Speaking of, where’s Bucky?” Steve asked.

Jack shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.” He was screwing that being nice thing up, but he didn’t care about that either. He didn’t want to be nice to Steve, especially now, that Brock was upset with him. “I’ll be going. See you.”

Brock nodded at him with another forced smile.

“Yeah, see ya, man,” Steve said.

Jack was in his car with the paper cup secured between his thighs, when it hit him. Maybe Brock was sad because he thought Jack was dating Bucky?

Jack snorted. Wishful thinking.


	10. are you satisfied with your care?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is running out of lines to cross.

Jack was alone in the locker room, getting changed into his uniform. He was down to his boxers when he found himself shoved to the nearest wall, a metal hand on his chest pinning him down. He looked down to be met with Bucky’s icy gaze. He was taller and more muscular than Bucky, but the metal arm made Bucky far stronger than him.

“Something interesting happened today,” Bucky muttered. He made a short pause, waiting for Jack to ask, but Jack stared back with his jaw clenched. “Steve Rogers called me. Brock went missing.”

Jack swallowed hard, what didn’t escape Bucky’s attention.

“Is he sure?” he asked. “Maybe Brock just doesn’t wanna see him.”

“Thought so at first. But I was in his house. There were no signs of struggle, but I found something interesting there. Now, Rollins…” Bucky squinted at him, blue eyes boring into Jack’s green. “Can you guess what that was?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jack snarled at him.

“Cameras.” Bucky’s mouth twitched in a ghost of a satisfied smile when Jack’s breath hitched. “One in each room. And guess what, Rollins – they were ours. I bet that if I checked the numbers, it would turn out they were the same ones that mysteriously disappeared from the supplies room few weeks ago.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Jack tried to push Bucky away, to no avail.

“No, but your fidgeting tells me an awful lot, Rollins.” Bucky’s fingers curled around Jack’s shoulder, digging into skin and bone, hard enough to hurt. “I’m only gonna ask this once, so don’t play games with me. Understand?” He shook Jack’s shoulder when he didn’t react. “Understand, Rollins?”

Wincing at the metal digits grinding his bone, Jack nodded.

“Where’s Brock?”

“Safe,” Jack spat out. “I wouldn’t hurt him.”

Bucky shoved him against the wall again and let go. “Jesus Christ, Rollins. Do you realize what you’ve done? You’ll not only get fired for this, you’re gonna get arrested! End up in jail with all the thugs you put in there! What were you thinking? That Fury will cover your ass?”

Jack rubbed his sore shoulder, refusing to look at Bucky.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he confessed finally. “I got horribly drunk last night, okay?! I don’t remember most of it.”

Bucky stared at him for few seconds.

“God, Rollins, you’re such a mess.”

Jack walked back to his locker to finish getting dressed. He could sense Bucky watching him the whole time, but he still refused to look.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Bucky asked when Jack moved to the door.

“What do you think? Get rid of the cameras.”

“Already took care of that. Destroyed them, nobody will be able to link them back to you.”

Jack finally looked up at him and muttered his thanks.

“Where’s Brock?” Bucky’s voice was quieter, softer than a moment ago. Jack didn’t buy it; he knew Bucky was using a negotiation technique.

“Safe,” he repeated.

“I know. I know you wouldn’t hurt him,” Bucky reassured him, although he couldn’t have known that. “It’s not him I’m worried about right now.”

Jack sighed. “My apartment.”

“Jesus,” Bucky hissed under his breath. “Did he recognize you?”

Jack shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Bucky’s eyes wandered about the ceiling as he thought. “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay. This is fixable. Just give me a minute to figure this out so nobody gets hurt. Not you, not Brock, and most importantly, not me. Fuck.” He rubbed his eyes through his eyelids. “I can get fired just for helping you.”

“You don’t have to help me.”

“I do. Because maybe you’re fucked in the head, but I actually like working with you. God help me.” He rolled his eyes.

Jack divided the teams differently that day; usually he and Bucky worked with Wilson and sometimes also Romanov, but today he assigned them to assist Coulson and Hill on their patrol.

“No screwing each other during working hours.” Wilson snickered and ran outside before either Bucky or Jack tried to strangle him.

“Does everyone think we’re an item?” Jack complained as they got in the car.

Bucky sent him an unimpressed glare. “I believe this is not our primary problem right now.”

Brock was tied to a kitchen chair and hidden in Jack’s closet.

Jack leaned his arms on the wall above his head. Brock was gagged and blindfolded, his beautiful eyes hidden from the world. Jack reached out to caress his face, his knuckles sliding down Brock’s cheekbone. His skin was as soft as it looked, as soft as Jack imagined it would be. Stubble scratched his fingers, but he didn’t mind. Brock’s breath hitched, his chest raising and falling in a quickened pace. Jack let out his own breath he’d been holding. In his fantasy, Brock was okay with this.

This wasn’t a fantasy. This was real. Brock’s face was damp with sweat, and the blindfold had wet stains on it. He could barely catch a breath through the gag. He leaned away from Jack’s hand and a muffled, distressed noise escaped his throat.

Jack dropped his hand. This wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to have Brock, but not like this. He wanted to be able to stare into Brock’s eyes, to listen to his voice. He didn’t want him to be scared. He wanted him to be here of his own volition. He didn’t want him to tremble and sob from distress.

He raced to the bathroom and sat at the edge of the bathtub. He was hyperventilating. What had he done? Why had he done it? He stared in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall, and his shaking reflection stared back with glassy eyes. He thought back to last night. He started drinking at home, but then he went out. And then… He shook his head, trying to focus. He had a vague memory of hauling Brock’s unconscious body through the window of his house. Why? What was he thinking? He remembered that his twisted, drunk – and maybe drugged, too, who knew, maybe somebody put something in his drink – mind somehow figured he was doing Brock a favor. Saving him from unsatisfactory relationship with Steve, from his lame lovemaking and a lousy job at Starbucks.

Yes, he must have thought he was helping. He’d never try to hurt Brock, drugged or not. He thought he was doing something good. But he didn’t. He hurt him. Brock was scared and probably traumatized, all because of him. He wished for nothing more than to comfort him, stroke his hair and promise he was gonna be alright. He couldn’t do that, because Brock would recognize him then. But he could fix it.


	11. we had a good run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack fucks up real bad. Or does he?

“Stark tracked Brock’s phone. He sent me his coordinates,” Bucky said as he read the text he got from their intelligence officer.

“Fucking finally,” Jack muttered and turned on the sirens as he sped up.

He didn’t need the coordinates. Brock was left in the woods, tied to a tree. Unfortunately, Jack and Bucky had to pretend to work an actual case to pull Jack out of trouble. Stark took his sweet time tracking Brock’s phone that Jack deliberately dumped in the grass near the tree Brock was tied to. It was getting dark and Jack was starting to worry. Anything could happen to a helpless man in the woods, not to mention it was getting colder.

“It’s your fault we’re in this mess, don’t forget that,” Bucky said.

“Shut up,” Jack whispered and pursed his lips, not trusting himself to say anything more without his voice breaking.

He stopped the car at the edge of the woods and they jumped out of it. Bucky took flashlights out of the trunk and tossed one to Jack.

“Do we have water?”

Bucky nodded and grabbed a small bottle of water as well before shutting the trunk. They entered the woods.

“Is he far?” Bucky asked.

The woods were getting thicker and darker the further from the street they got. They turned on the flashlights.

“Not too far.” Jack was few steps ahead, walking as fast as he could without running.

“I sure as hell hope nobody found him first.”

“That was my intent. People don’t usually go that far, unless they’re looking for mushrooms. It’s not the mushroom season though.”

“I should’ve clarified: by nobody I meant wolves.”

Jack’s blood ran cold. He wanted to scold Bucky, but bit his tongue.

“I deserve it,” he admitted grudgingly. He scanned the trees they were passing. “Hush now. We’re getting close.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes until they heard shuffling and muffled sounds.

“Brock?” Bucky called out. “This is Bucky and Rollins! Stay calm! You’re safe now!”

They saw a shivering, dark shape tied to a thick oak. Jack rushed towards it, almost tripping in his hurry. Brock was sitting on the ground like he left him, with his back pressed firmly against the bark, his arms twisted back and around the trunk, his legs tied tightly together. Judging by the disturbed ropes, Brock had tried to get himself free, but the ties held. Jack quickly got the blindfold off, so Brock could see it was him and didn’t panic. His skin was cold to the touch. He was wearing just a tank top, sweatpants and a pair of socks he was sleeping in before Jack broke into his house. Jack’s heart sank at the sight of his eyes, red-rimmed and glassy. He carefully removed the gag as well. The corners of Brock’s mouth were burned from the rope, his lips chapped.

“Rollins,” he breathed, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue. “You saved my life again.”

“Yeah, he’s a real hero,” Bucky deadpanned from behind the tree, where he was cutting the rope from Brock’s wrists.

“You better give me that water.”

Bucky finished cutting the ties and tossed Jack the bottle, then moved to Brock’s legs to get them free as well. Jack handed it to Brock, who was shaking his bare arms to get his blood flowing. He drank a half of it in one go. Jack gave him water and fed him back in his apartment, but that was hours ago.

“Thanks.” Brock offered the bottle back. There were red burns around his wrists.

Jack looked away.

“Keep it. Are you hurt? Can you walk?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re far from fine, buddy,” Bucky said. “That’s okay. An ambulance is on its way.”

Jack helped Brock stand up. Brock faltered and grabbed onto Jack’s shirt to stay upright.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s fine.” Jack wrapped an arm around his waist to secure him as he led him the way they came from.

“You’re not the one who should be apologizing,” Bucky added very (un)helpfully.

Jack did his best to ignore him, focusing instead on the feeling of Brock’s closeness, on his hand still clenching his shirt, his side brushing his own. His body was still shaking, and Jack couldn’t help but to pull him closer, trying to warm him up at least a little. He shouldn’t be enjoying this. He shouldn’t be this close to Brock, not after what he did. He was sure that if he turned his head to look at Bucky, disapproval would be visible on his face. But as it was, Bucky was walking behind them, and Jack had to make sure Brock didn’t trip over protruding tree roots or his own legs. 

“Can you tell us what happened?” Bucky asked.

Brock frowned. “I’m… not sure.”

“We can interview you later,” Jack said. “You need to rest now.”

Brock was still frowning when they reached the street, police and ambulance lights painting it blue and red. His fingers let go of Jack’s shirt and he approached the ambulance, a paramedic coming ahead already.

“Congrats,” Bucky muttered in Jack’s ear when he came close enough to brush his back with his chest. “He not only didn’t recognize you, but is now totally smitten with you. That’s some grade A gaslighting.”

“I didn’t plan this,” Jack grumbled through gritted teeth. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“You have more luck than reason, it would seem.”

Bucky walked away towards their car. Jack watched Brock sit down in the ambulance with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and the paramedic check his wrists. As if sensing Jack’s gaze on him, Brock looked up. Jack nodded at him slightly and followed Bucky, keeping his eyes on the ground.

“I’m gonna stay away from him,” he said after getting in the car and shutting the door behind him.

“That’s the smartest thing you said all month,” Bucky replied. “If I had known you were a crazy stalker, I wouldn’t have encouraged this.”

“I’m not—” Jack cut himself off and closed his eyes. Because Bucky was right, that was what he was. He might’ve convinced himself the cameras in Brock’s house were to keep him safe, that he kidnapped Brock to save him from the life he was leading. It was all bullshit. He could see it now. See how twisted and dangerous he really was. He took a deep breath and started up the engine.

“If I had known you were a crazy stalker,” Bucky repeated, more slowly this time, thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t have hung out with you.”


	12. it suits you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brock has a bad taste in men.

Jack steered clear of the coffee shop. He took a longer route home to drive by, but never stopped and never walked in. He peeked in the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Brock, but in vain. He was also gonna delete the pictures of Brock from his phone. Eventually. He just needed a little more time to let go.

His coworkers never figured out who Brock’s kidnapper was. Bucky took care of all the evidence Jack had left, and burned the gloves and the balaclava he had on that night. Despite this, the two drifted apart. These days, Jack teamed up with Coulson and Hill rather than Bucky, Wilson and Romanov. Coulson and Hill were good friends and quickly learnt Jack was more than okay with them not including him in their small talk. Because of this, working with them turned out to be preferable.

Jack knew Bucky continued to visit their Starbucks, and that he grew closer to Steve. Bucky replacing him with Steve wasn’t unexpected – Jack didn’t know anybody who, having the opportunity to choose between a brilliant and a flint, picked a flint after all. But no matter how many times he told himself he didn’t care, that he and Bucky weren’t even real friends, it still stung.

Spotting Brock fidgeting outside his police station felt surreal. He almost forgot what Brock looked like and seeing him again in person made Jack fall in love with him all over again. Brock noticed him and walked his way, his hands in his pockets and shoulders stiff. Jack stilled, only one thought running through his mind: _he knows. Brock knows it was me._

“Hey,” Brock said softly. He looked good, almost glowing in the full sunlight.

When didn’t he look good though.

“Hey,” Jack replied cautiously.

Brock didn’t look scared or angry with him, quite the opposite; he was smiling. So maybe he wasn’t here to report Jack after all.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Jack asked because Brock just kept staring at him.

“No, I got a few days off. After what happened.”

Jack nodded in acknowledgement.

“Speaking of,” Brock continued. “Have you found out who did that?”

Jack shook his head slowly. “We’re searching, but we got nothing yet. The guy’s a pro. But we will find him.”

Of course that was why Brock came. What other business could he have at a police station?

Jack slowly moved towards his car. He should leave, he couldn’t start talking to Brock again.

Brock followed him. “You’ve done your shift?”

“Yeah.” And because he was weak, Jack asked, “Do you want a lift?”

Brock nodded and they got in Jack’s car. That was when Bucky walked out of the base and caught Jack’s gaze. Jack thought he saw a glimpse of disapproval in his eyes before Bucky looked away, but maybe it was just his imagination. It wasn’t Bucky’s business anymore and Jack knew that if he did something illegal again, he’d be on his own.

He wasn’t going to do anything illegal. He was just gonna drive Brock home.

“I know you already told us everything you know,” Jack said as they waited for the traffic lights to turn green. “But do you have any idea who could do this to you? Do you have enemies? Anybody who would want to harm you?” _Anybody I should take care of?_

He clenched the steering wheel tighter. The last time he tried to keep Brock safe, he kidnapped and traumatized him. The only person Brock needed protection from was Jack.

Brock shrugged. “The guy I got arrested? You know, the one with a gun, in Starbucks?”

“We already checked him. He’s hospitalized. It couldn’t have been him.”

“It’s fine if you don’t find him. I don’t—it’s gonna sound ridiculous.” Brock shot Jack a quick glance. “But I don’t think that guy wanted to hurt me. Like, he drugged me rather than beating me up. Gave me food. I don’t think it was personal. I don’t know what he was about, and I don’t wanna. I’m just glad it’s over.” He sighed. “Does it make any sense?”

“It does,” Jack reassured him, although he wasn’t so certain himself. If it was him who was kidnapped, he’d do everything to find his kidnapper, and then make sure they never hurt anybody again.

But he was glad Brock didn’t hold a grudge.

“So who’s making your coffee now?” Brock asked in a light tone. “Lemme guess. Jasper?”

Jack shook his head. “I haven’t been to Starbucks.”

“Oh. So… what you’ve been up to?”

“Not much.” Jack frowned. “Brock, if you don’t care if we find the guy or not, then why did you come to the police station today?”

He glanced at Brock. He wasn’t looking back at Jack; his eyes were fixed on his knees, his fingers playing with the hem of his t-shirt.

“I don’t have much to do now, that I’m not working. Thought I’d come see you.”

“Why me?” Jack tried to keep his eyes on the road, but watching Brock was far more tempting. He held his breath, waiting for the answer. He knew he shouldn’t be expecting a miracle, but…

“Why not?” Brock tried for a lighthearted tone, but his voice trembled slightly. “I like you and you’re—” He frowned and looked up, straight ahead, still avoiding Jack’s gaze. “Look,” he picked up with a heavy sigh, “I know there’s something between you and Bucky, and I’m with Steve—”

“There’s nothing between me and Bucky,” Jack was quick to interrupt. He was now openly staring at Brock, one eye only glancing at the road every once in a while.

Brock’s mouth twitched at that, and he had to bite his lip to suppress a smile. “I just can’t stop thinking about you. And I had to see you.” He hazarded a glance at Jack.

_Fuck._

Jack forced himself to look at the road and braked abruptly so they wouldn’t collide with the truck in front of them.

“Did you tell Steve?” Jack asked, because despite how much he didn’t want to bring Steve up after Brock practically confessed he had feelings for him, his brain short-circuited when he tried to think about anything else to say.

“No.” Brock frowned, his lip curling in a scowl. “How am I supposed to tell him something like that? I don’t even know if you like me back.”

Jack parked in front of Brock’s house. Brock didn’t ask how Jack knew where he lived, but maybe he just figured that as a cop investigating his kidnapping, Jack was bound to know his address.

Brock didn’t move even after Jack switched off the engine. He was now the one watching him, while Jack stared straight ahead, considering his options. He could tell Brock the truth, that he liked him just as much, but that would change everything. It would make Brock eager to spend time with him, and Jack just wouldn’t be strong enough to say no. On the other hand, how could he lie to him? More than he already was?

He slowly tilted his head to look down at Brock. Brock’s jaw was clenched tight, the muscles of his shoulders and back stiff as he waited for an answer. His hands, curled in fists, rested on his thighs, his wrists still marred with healing burns. A reminder of what Jack did, of who he really was. He reached out and touched a burn with a fingertip; Brock breathed in with a slight hiss.

“Does it hurt?” Jack asked softly.

Brock shook his head, but Jack suspected he was lying. The burns looked painful. He delicately uncurled Brock’s fist and slid his large hand into Brock’s palm, entwining their fingers together. It looked… right. And felt right. Brock’s hand was warm, calloused and _real_ , and exactly the place Jack’s hand should be in.

Even biting his lip couldn’t stop Brock from grinning.

“Wanna come in?” he asked, managing somehow to be shy about it, despite his obvious enthusiasm. “I’ve a neat coffee maker. Latte, right?”

“I do.” Jack squeezed his hand and let go, looked away with a pain in his chest. “But I shouldn’t.”

Because Brock wouldn’t be here if he knew the truth. He wouldn’t want Jack if he did.

“Right,” Brock muttered. He unbuckled and opened the door on his side.

And because Jack was a weak man, he recited his phone number. “Let me know when you get back to work,” he said.

Brock’s smile looked forced this time, but he replied he would.


	13. the new infidelity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets high on dopamine.

_Unknown number: Hey its Brock._

Jack got the text before he even returned home. He saved the number and spent the rest of the day away from his phone, not hoping Brock would text him again. He tried to watch TV, but his mind kept wandering. Watching anything seemed kind of pointless if it didn’t have Brock in it.

Around ten o’clock, he became too anxious to sit still, much less to go to bed. He decided it wouldn’t be too bad if he at least let Brock know he got the text. That would be a polite thing to do.

_Rollins: Got it._

His fingers trembled above the keyboard for a moment, before he gave up on being a good man, and added, _What are you doing?_ , because he was curious. He got used to knowing what Brock was doing at all times, when he was home at least. Now, that the cameras were gone from Brock’s house, not knowing made Jack restless.

Brock replied a few seconds later.

_Brock: Watching some stupid tv show._

Jack didn’t even begin to wonder if he should reply, when he got another text.

_Brock: Thinking of u._

He stared at the screen with his mind blank until it went black. He pressed a button to light it up again and stared some more. He must have taken too much time internally freaking out, because Brock sent him another text.

_Brock: Sorry._

_No need to be sorry_ , Jack typed back without much thinking.

_Brock: What r u doing?_

_Rollins: Watching some stupid tv show. Thinking of you._

He imagined Brock sitting on the couch in his living room, phone in hand, beaming at the screen. He had seen him do just that many times, so the image slipped easily into his mind.

Jack clenched his phone nervously, trying to keep his eyes on the TV, but he proceeded to check for a text. After pressing the button to light the screen up about a hundred times in the span of ten minutes, another text finally arrived.

_Brock: Going to bed now. Gonna think of u there as well._

Jack’s breath hitched and his face warmed up. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve Brock nor his affection. But he craved it like he never craved human company before.

_Sleep well_ , he replied and turned off his phone to at least try to lessen the temptation to send something more. His heart beat fast like he just ran a marathon. How the hell was he supposed to fall asleep that night?

Just as he thought, his night was restless. He wasn’t looking at a clock, but it was early morning when he finally drifted off. He woke up before the alarm. He remembered yesterday and smiled. For the first time in a long time he really had a motivation to get up in the morning.

He turned his phone back on. There were no new texts, but that was alright. He studied Brock’s day schedule long enough to know that he was either still sleeping or just waking up.

Having arrived at the police station, he stopped in front of the door for a quick smoke. He was a little early and his coworkers only started showing up. Romanov offered a friendly smile as she passed him by; Hill and Coulson arrived together and they nodded at him, barely sparing him a glance. Bucky came up when Jack was stubbing out his cigarette in the nearest trash can. His gaze dropped. He didn’t expect Bucky to approach him, but maybe he should have.

“Do I have to ask?”

Jack looked up at him with his eyebrows raised in confusion.

“You and Brock,” Bucky clarified. “What are you up to?”

Jack remembered that Bucky saw them yesterday.

“Nothing.”

“You said you’d leave him alone.”

“I know.” Jack looked away exasperatedly. He was mad at himself already, he didn’t need Bucky to lecture him.

“I don’t wanna have to ask this, but is he alright?”

Jack’s heart sank at that. Bucky had a right not to trust him, but it still hurt.

“He came to see me. I only gave him a lift home.” Jack looked back at him, trying to keep his gaze hard and his face expressionless. “You don’t have to worry about him.”

Bucky stared back with cold eyes. “Don’t I?” Even his voice was vacant of any emotion, though clearly he had to feel _something_. Keeping himself so under control was an ability Jack was jealous of. “You swear you’d steer clear of the guy and the next thing I know, he’s in your car.”

Jack understood why Bucky was worried; the last time he was in Jack’s car, it was to get rid of the sedatives and syringes he kept there.

“I tried, alright?” Jack paused when Wilson passed by. They watched him disappear behind the station’s door before Jack picked up in a lower voice. “I did a stupid fucking thing when I got drunk out of my mind—”

“To put it lightly,” Bucky interrupted with his eyebrows raised.

“But I can fix it. I’m gonna make it up to him.”

“You’re gonna tell him it was you who kidnapped him and planted cameras in his house?”

Jack stared at him, taken aback.

“Are you kidding?” he asked. “He’d hate me. _I_ hate me. Enough for both of us.”

“Then how can you even begin to make it up to him? If you don’t come clean, apologize?”

“He told me he liked me,” Jack whispered, praying silently for his voice not to break. “He really likes me, Buck. I can’t tell him and watch him stop.”

“Well, it’s not my business.” Bucky shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and made way towards the station’s entrance. “A fair warning though, if you fuck up again, I won’t be there to pull your ass outta trouble.”

“I know,” Jack muttered as he followed him into the building. “And I won’t.”


	14. I was made to haunt you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The friendship develops.

_Brock: Im finally back at work tmrw. Hope to c u there._

_Rollins: You will._

_Rollins: What are you doing?_

_Brock: Nothing interesting._

_Brock: Im actually at Steves rn._

_Rollins: Are you gonna tell him?_

Jack stared at the screen until it went black. Then he put it away on the coffee table, reclined on the couch and stared at it some more. He lit up the screen. Only two minutes passed.

He sighed and turned on the TV. Lately, he found it hard to focus. Whenever he tried to read a book, or watch a movie, or even play a game, he caught himself checking his phone for new texts every other ten minutes, and Brock didn’t even text him that often. It was even worse at work, where he could hardly be spotted not holding his phone. Jack knew it was annoying his teammates, but neither Hill nor Coulson dared tell him anything, since he was their commanding officer.

Scary Movie was on, so he managed to distract himself with that, at least until the first commercial break. When he checked his phone while some baldy tried to convince him to buy cleaning products, there were still no new texts.

_Rollins: Sorry, didn’t mean to sound demanding._

_Brock: No its fine I should tell him. And I will._

_Brock: Its just I know itll break his heart and I don’t think im ready for that._

_Rollins: Take all the time you need. It’s not like I’m going anywhere._

The next day, Jack got up with the sun, barely able to contain his excitement when he remembered he was gonna see Brock. He forwent his morning coffee, starting the day with two cigarettes instead. Eight hours at work were _torture_ , sweetened only by few texts he managed to exchange with Brock. When he finally parked his car in front of the coffee shop, his heart felt like it tried its best to burst out of his chest. Brock was already looking out for him in the window, and Jack smiled uncontrollably and waved before jumping out of the car.

“Hey,” Brock greeted him at the counter with the same kind of beam he had when with Steve. “Latte?”

“Actually, do you sell anything without caffeine?” Jack was afraid that with his current level of anxiety, any intake of caffeine could send him into cardiac arrest.

“Well, there’s decaf, but you’re only excused drinking it if you’re pregnant.”

“What if I’m in love?” Jack’s face heated up; he didn’t plan on saying that, it just slipped out.

“I hate making smoothies, but I guess I can make one for you?” Brock’s cheeks flushed a little, too. He was outright grinning now.

“I’ll have whichever you hate making the least.”

“You’re too good to me.”

Brock cashed him this time; apparently he figured that offering him free drinks was pointless if Jack was gonna leave the payment in the tip jar anyway. When it was ready, Jack took his smoothie (it was strawberry) and sat down at the smallest table near the entrance. At first he was a little worried Bucky might show up, but after the first hour it became obvious he wouldn’t. Near the closing time, Jack also expected to see Steve, as he would usually show up to collect Brock and give him a lift home, but soon the place emptied and it was just him and Brock.

“I’m closing soon.” Brock approached Jack’s table and took his plastic cup. “Did you like it?”

Jack nodded, his thoughts far away from the smoothie. “Isn’t Steve picking you up tonight?”

Brock’s smile faded. “Uh, no. We had a fight this morning.”

Jack frowned. “What about?”

Brock shrugged. “I haven’t been very nice to him lately. With… what’s been going on.” He sighed, looking away. Jack knew he meant whatever was unraveling between them. “He got tired of my shit.”

“Are you okay?”

“With what, being an asshole? Sure.” Brock shrugged again. “Worst thing about it is, this was a perfect opportunity to break up with him, but I still didn’t do it. So I’m an asshole to the both of you.”

“Well, does the asshole want a lift home? I’ll be happy to provide.”

Brock’s mouth quirked in a smile. “That’d be great. I just need to clean up.”

Jack nodded and got up. “I’ll wait in the car.”

The sky was already dark, the silence disturbed by the rain hitting the cars. Brock locked the coffee shop twenty minutes later and hurried to Jack’s car. Jack dropped the cigarette he was smoking and rolled up the window.

“Bucky said you ain’t friends anymore,” Brock said as they drove through the busy streets.

“You’re talking?”

“He hangs out with Steve.” Brock wasn’t looking at him; he watched the view change behind the window. “Is it because of me?”

Jack sighed, thinking about the reason Bucky cut him loose. Which was the same reason Jack should be somewhere else right now, alone. No matter how excited he was about his developing friendship with Brock, the memory of what he had done to him was always lurking somewhere in the back of his mind, making him nauseous.

“No, it’s because of me,” he answered truthfully. “I can be a lot to handle. Bucky decided it’d be better for him if he stayed away. I don’t blame him.”

Brock winced. “Wow, that’s harsh.”

Jack shrugged. “It’s true.”

“I guess I’m not the only asshole in this car, huh?” Brock elbowed him in the side, smirking.

Jack snorted. “I bet I’m worse than you.”

“Don’t be so sure. Maybe I have a dark and troubled past, huh? Have you thought about that?”

“Maybe I have a dark and troubled present?” Jack raised his eyebrow at Brock.

“Maybe I’m gonna have a dark and troubled future?”

“Maybe my future’s gonna be even more dark and troubled?”

“Well, then I guess we have to spend our future together to find out.”

Jack didn’t say anything to that remark, but he was fighting back (and losing) a huge grin. Soon, he parked in front of Brock’s house.

“Wanna come in?” Brock asked in the same shy tone as the last time he asked this question. “I have beer. It’s decaf.”

Jack dropped his gaze.

“Uh, I—”

“We can just talk,” Brock said quickly. “You know, I don’t really know much about you.”

And Jack shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. He switched off the engine all the same.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished the first draft! There are 10 more chapters to go. Are you excited? I'm excited. I like finishing things.


	15. then again, maybe not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just talk.” Yeah, right.

Jack noticed the bars in Brock’s windows only when he came closer. Brock opened the door for him, but when Jack didn’t move, he followed his line of sight.

“What do you think?” he asked. Jack looked at him questioningly. “Do they look solid?”

Jack nodded, unable to get out a sound.

“Bucky helped me choose them. I thought, as a cop, he’d know best, right?”

Jack dropped his gaze, bile raising in his throat. He made Brock feel unsafe in his own home. He wanted to turn back and leave, but Brock was already coming inside, and it was too late now.

He sat down in the living room, trying not to think about what he knew Brock and Steve did on the couch. Brock came in a moment later, with two bottles of beer. He handed one to Jack and flopped on the couch beside him.

“What do you wanna know?” Jack asked, opening his beer.

Brock shrugged, looking up at him. “Anything. Everything.”

“Well, I can’t tell you everything at once. You have to settle for something.”

Jack rubbed his itching conjunctivae. He forgot about the goddamn cat. He was gonna start sneezing soon.

“What’s your first name?” Brock laughed nervously. “I don’t even know that.”

“It’s Jack. Sorry if you were expecting something less plain.”

“I wasn’t expecting anything. So, you don’t like it?”

Jack shrugged. It wasn’t that he disliked the name. “Just nobody calls me that anymore.”

“Not even your family?”

_I don’t have one,_ Jack wanted to say, but it would be unfair, both to Brock and the family he left behind.

“We don’t keep in touch,” he said instead, which was closer to the truth.

“Because of your… preferences?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Is it that obvious?”

Brock shrugged. “Happens often.”

“Did it happen to you?”

“I don’t think my parents even know I’m gay.” Brock shrugged again. “Father kicked me out after I dropped outta college. I was supposed to be a lawyer, see. Not a barista.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“That was long ago.” Brock took a sip of his beer and Jack followed suit. “So, can I call you Jack?”

“If you’d rather.”

“I would. I like it. I like short, simple names.” He took another sip.

Jack was about to say something, when he felt something warm rub against his legs. He looked down. A black furball looked back at him with glistening eyes. Jack carefully moved away.

“You don’t like cats?” Brock asked warily.

Jack instantly understood that not liking cats was a deal breaker.

“I do like them.” And to prove it, he patted the cat’s head.

Brock smiled in relief. “Her name’s Peggy.”

Peggy was climbing Jack’s leg to settle in his lap. Jack knew he was gonna regret it very soon.

“She likes you.” Brock petted her head for a while. “So, what do you do when you ain’t saving people and drinking coffee?”

“Wow. Usually it’s me interviewing people,” Jack croaked out and cleared his throat.

Realization dawned on Brock’s face. “You’re allergic.”

Jack sniffed. “Yeah.”

“Oh, no. We can never be together.” Brock pressed the back of his palm to his forehead dramatically.

Jack was only fifty percent sure he was joking. He met some cat people in his life, and they could be very serious when it came to felines.

“No, it’s fine. I can sneeze myself to death, I don’t care.”

Brock snorted. “I have pills. My best friend is allergic, too.”

He got up, took Peggy and settled her down on the floor. Then he disappeared behind the bathroom door to come back with a white pill and a glass of water.

“This should help.”

Jack swallowed the pill and set the glass on the coffee table beside his beer bottle.

“The level of my attractiveness just flopped from zero to minus one.”

“Don’t be silly.” Brock sat down beside him again, with his legs curled beneath him. “I think you’re very attractive,” he said quietly.

_You’re with somebody like Steve, and you find_ me _attractive?_

Jack didn’t say that though, because he didn’t want to bring up Steve. He wanted to forget Steve even existed. Judging by the way Brock was looking at him, he wanted that, too.

“I noticed you long ago,” Brock continued. He was staring at Jack’s lips now. “I like men like you. Men that could overpower me.”

The statement drove air out of Jack’s lungs and it was suddenly hard for him to breathe. He reached out to caress Brock’s cheekbone with his knuckles. And then he leaned in and kissed him.

Jack had a girlfriend once. He didn’t like kissing her. He frequently ended up bored in less than a minute. He just couldn’t see the appeal of two mouths getting each other wet with spit. There were so many more interesting things to do. Like, watching the grass grow.

But kissing Brock was far from boring. Brock’s warm and eager mouth against his made his knees go weak, and he was very glad he was sitting and not standing. Brock wasn’t a sloppy kisser, he seemed to know what to do not to leave Jack’s face all wet. His lips were bitter from beer, but Jack didn’t mind that at all. Brock gasped into his mouth and pushed him lightly away, looking down. Jack wanted to kiss him again already.

“Wow,” Brock whispered. “Uh.”

“I shouldn’t have,” Jack realized.

Brock nodded, still not looking at him. His cheeks and lips were reddened, and it was the most beautiful Jack had seen him.

“I don’t wanna kick you out, but—”

“I should go,” Jack agreed, standing up. “See you tomorrow?”

Brock glanced up, managed a pale smile. “Yeah. Yeah, goodnight.”

Swallowing disappointment, Jack forced himself to leave Brock’s house and drive away to his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 15 chapters in, and only now they kiss. Should I tag as slow burn?


	16. are you avoiding me? you’re nowhere to be seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack makes an important decision.

It wasn’t Brock who greeted Jack at the counter in Starbucks the following day.

“Good afternoon, what’ll you have?”

Jack frowned back at the tall, smiling blond he had never seen before.

“Is Brock in?” he asked.

“No, sorry. He called in sick.”

That was weird. Jack left the coffee shop without another word, still frowning to himself. Brock said they’d see each other that day. And he looked pretty healthy yesterday. Still, shouldn’t he text Jack if there was a change of plans? Jack got in his car and checked his phone to make sure he didn’t get any texts.

_Rollins: The guy at Starbucks said you called in sick. Are you ok?_

Jack reclined in his seat, staring at the phone and waiting for a reply that never came.

_Rollins: I thought I’d see you today. Is it because I kissed you? I thought you wanted it, too._

Maybe Brock was too sick to text Jack? What if he needed help, somebody to take care of him?

_Rollins: I won’t do it again if you don’t want to. I’m only worried about you. Are you alright?_

He spent another five minutes in the car, losing hope he’d get a response anytime soon. He started up the engine with a sigh. He wished he still had cameras in Brock’s house. He could have easily checked up on him then, just to make sure he was alright. He probably was. Probably sleeping. He’d see Jack’s texts when he woke up and he’d reply then.

Jack took a different turn on the crossing, the one that led to Brock’s neighborhood.

It was probably nothing, but Jack had to make sure. Brock was attacked with a gun once, and he was kidnapped. Sure, the last one was Jack’s doing, but who was to say Brock didn’t have any more stalkers? Ones that would really hurt him?

Jack stopped the car in front Brock’s house, practically jumped out of it and rushed to the door. He didn’t have to wait long for a response after he rang the bell; the door opened and he came face to face with Steve.

“Hi,” Jack said, surprised.

“Hi,” Steve replied. He wasn’t smiling.

“Brock didn’t come to work today, and I… I just wanted to see if he was okay?”

“He’s sick.” Steve stood in the doorway with his arms crossed on his chest, his broad shoulders blocking Jack’s view inside the house. “He’s sleeping now. But I’ll tell him you came.”

The door slammed shut in Jack’s face. Jack stared back in shock. He had always thought about Steve as the nicest person he had ever met. He was now reevaluating his opinion about him.

Just what did Bucky tell Steve that made him dislike Jack so much? Could he… Could Bucky tell him…

Or, Jack thought as he got back in his car, Bucky didn’t tell him anything and Steve simply found out about Jack and Brock’s little affair. Maybe that was why Brock didn’t text Jack. Maybe Steve simply didn’t let him. What if…

Jack’s mouth went dry as he got stuck in a traffic. What if Steve hurt Brock? The man was huge, more muscular than Jack and about the same height. Even though Brock wasn’t a weakling himself, he wouldn’t stand a chance against him. And Jack just left him there… Wasn’t it weird that Steve was at Brock’s the day after they fought? And why was Jack only now realizing this? He was trained to notice these things, to link the facts…

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Steve was a good man. He wouldn’t harm Brock. Would he?

Then why did he make sure Jack couldn’t see inside the house? Why did he shut the door in his face? If Brock was just ill and not lying beaten up on the floor?

Similar grim thoughts kept Jack company as he got back home and flopped onto his couch. Once again, he mourned the loss of the cameras. He pulled out his phone and typed another text.

_Rollins: Talked to Steve. He wasn’t happy to see me. Does he know about us?_

And when he didn’t get a response, he typed another one.

_Rollins: Did he hurt you?_

_Rollins: I only need one word to know you’re ok. Please, I’m losing my mind._

He spent half of the night thinking he should get out of bed and see Brock that instant. He spent another half trying to convince himself he was overreacting. He got up before the alarm. His face was paler than chalk and his eyes circled, and he was too nervous to eat anything. He ran out of cigarettes, so he made a stop at a store as he was driving to work and bought two packs at once.

When he arrived at the base, he spotted Bucky walking through the parking lot towards the locker room.

“Hey, Buck!” he called after him and hurried his way.

Bucky stopped in front of the locker room door and looked at him quizzically.

“What did you tell Steve about me?” Jack asked in a low voice.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you think we have better things to talk about?”

“Well, I saw him yesterday and he was a little… stand-offish.”

“Didn’t it cross your mind that maybe it’s because you’re coming on to his boyfriend?”

Jack nodded, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Brock wants to break up with him, by the way.”

“What, for you? Is he out of his mind? Oh, wait.” Bucky pursed his lips. “He doesn’t know everything about you, does he?”

“Nobody knows everything about me.”

“You know what I mean,” Bucky barked; he wasn’t in the mood for Jack’s bullshit. “Are you gonna tell him?”

Jack blinked. “You know I can’t. That’d ruin everything.”

“Should’ve thought about it before you fucking went and kidnapped him.”

Jack winced. “You know I didn’t wanna hurt him.”

“Oh, but you did. And you keep hurting him by not telling him.” Bucky’s voice got louder as he started losing control over his emotions. Jack tried to shush him. “What if he finds out on his own? What if you get together, have sex, fall in love with each other for real, and _then_ he finds out? If you think telling him would hurt him now, can you imagine how _that_ would make him feel?”

Bucky’s eyes were wide and glowering, and Jack had to look away.

“Maybe he won’t find out. It’s a miracle he even looked at me, I can’t lose him,” he muttered.

“Jesus,” Bucky uttered under his breath. “How can you live with yourself? Rollins, look at me.”

Jack complied grudgingly.

“It’ll be worse if he learns this from someone else. Or if he finds out on his own. He’ll feel cheated and used, and manipulated into a relationship with you. The sooner you tell him, the more time he’ll have to… digest all this. And maybe one day, who knows, one day he might forgive you.”

Jack shook his head. “He won’t. You didn’t. If I tell him, it’ll be over.”

“Tell me what’s more important to you: your feelings? Or his?” Bucky stared at him with piercing eyes.

Jack’s hand closed around one of the packs in his pocket; another one clenched into a fist, his nails digging into skin.

“His,” he replied finally, his voice barely audible. “You’re right. I’m gonna tell him. He deserves the truth, and I don’t deserve him.”

Bucky’s lips quirked slightly. “There’s hope for you yet.”

He turned on his heel and entered the locker room, where the rest of the team was preparing for the day. With his eyes fixed on the dirty ground, his legs weak and head light, Jack followed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday tomorrow, and it'll keep my busy over the weekend, so there won't be an update until next week (:


	17. secret identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whose heart is this, lying broken on the cold ground? Is it Jack’s? Or mine?

That day, Jack was even more distracted than usual. He couldn’t stop thinking about Brock. He wondered what he would say when he finally saw him. He tried to prepare a speech, but everything he wanted to say just sounded bad. How could he even begin to explain kidnapping him? He knew he was gonna lose him, and it made him feel like crying. The fact that he still didn’t get any sign of life from him wasn’t helping.

He was so off his game that he made a mistake when his team was called to investigate a gunfight in a hotel; he shot at one of the shooters when he shouldn’t have. He ended up on Inspector Fury’s carpet for that, and he couldn’t even explain himself. When he finally left the base, his head aching, he dreamt only about a couple of drinks and a good night sleep. He felt like he didn’t get any sleep in ages, and when he thought about it, he couldn’t remember when was the last time he slept soundly. Perhaps before Brock. That was over a month ago.

The day got colder in the afternoon. Jack hunched in his thin leather jacket, hiding his hands in his pockets, and decided to forgo his after work cigarette and go home straight away. He smoked more than usual already anyway. He looked up and his heart skipped a beat before his mind fully realized who was pacing around the parking lot in front of the base.

“Brock,” he called out, hurrying towards the man.

Brock turned around to face him. He held up his hand before Jack managed to get close.

“Stay back.”

Jack stopped abruptly, as if Brock’s words stung him. He frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

He looked around and noticed Steve on his Harley-Davidson, standing a few feet away. Far enough not to hear their conversation, but close enough to see everything they did. Maybe that was why Brock didn’t want Jack to fraternize too much.

“You didn’t answer my texts,” Jack said. “I was worried.”

He took a better look; Brock’s nose and cheeks were reddened from the cold, but otherwise he looked as good as always. Neither sick nor hurt. Jack’s stomach turned; he had a bad feeling. There was something else going on.

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Brock hid his hand back in a pocket of his parka and leaned slightly away.

Jack frowned. “I don’t—”

“I know who you are, alright? I know what you did.”

Jack froze, his insides turning cold. Air escaped his lungs in a form of white mist, and he couldn’t remember how to breathe it in again.

“Thought I was confused at first,” Brock continued, still keeping as far away from Jack as was possible for him to be heard without yelling. “Told myself it wasn’t possible. But you touch like him. Smell like him. You even breathe like him. You’re the guy who kidnapped me.”

Jack just stared back, unblinking, his eyes watering. He suspected that if he tried to say something, no sound would come out.

“You ain’t even denying it,” Brock said.

“I can’t lie to you,” Jack managed out in a tight voice.

“Well, thanks for that. I guess.”

“I am so—”

Brock held up his hand again. “Save it. I don’t wanna hear it. I’ve no idea what your game is, and I don’t even care. I didn’t tell anybody, and I’m not gonna. I don’t want any more trouble.”

“You think I’d give you trouble?”

“I don’t know what you’re capable of.” Brock was slightly trembling, either from held back emotions or from the chill. Jack could feel himself tremble as well, though he was no longer cold. “I don’t know who the fuck you even are. I don’t wanna have anything to do with you, you hear me? Stay. Away. Delete my number, stop coming to my workplace. Forget I ever existed. Understand?”

Jack only stared back with his eyes stinging and an ache pounding in his head.

“Do you?” Brock prompted. His voice was slightly trembling now, too.

Unable to say anything, Jack simply nodded. Steve was glaring at him with piercing blue eyes in the background, but the only thing Jack registered was Brock turning on his heel and walking away. He watched him take a seat behind Steve on the motorcycle, hide his beautiful face under a helmet, press himself against Steve’s back and ride away, out of Jack’s life, for good.

Jack got to his car slowly, his muscles straining as if he walked through water. He sat down in the driver’s seat, shut the door and hid his head in his hands. All he could feel was enormous migraine; if there were any emotions, negative or positive, his mind didn’t yet register them.

He didn’t know how much time he spent just sitting in his car. His headache was getting worse every minute, to the point he was too scared to drive. He ordered a cab, and after he finally hauled himself to his apartment on the second floor, he was too nauseous for dinner or even a drink, so he dragged himself straight to bed, where he lay with his eyes open and mind blank for hours.

It were wee hours of the morning when Jack decided to get up and at least take some painkillers. He took a bottle from a cabinet in the bathroom and went to the kitchen. He watered down two pills and sat down on a bar stool at the counter, pressing cool hands to his heated forehead. He sat like that until the headache lessened at least a little. Then he returned to the bedroom, fished out his phone from the pile of clothes he left on the floor and got back to bed. He wrapped himself in blankets and started typing, squinting as the bright light from the screen hurt his eyes.

_I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I never wanted for anything bad to happen to you. I never meant to hurt you. If you think it was some kind of a game, it wasn’t. I didn’t lie about my feelings for you. I know there’s nothing I can do to make amends and I don’t expect you to forgive me._

_Don’t worry, I’m deleting your number. I won’t bother you anymore. You won’t see me again._

_Goodbye._

He sent the text to Brock, knowing he was never gonna receive an answer. It didn’t matter; Brock deserved a proper apology. Jack should have done this sooner; Bucky was right, Brock finding out the truth on his own was far worse than Jack coming clean. He could have apologized in person then, instead of sending a lousy text that didn’t explain anything. Not that Jack even had the words to explain himself.

He didn’t delete Brock’s number yet, just like he didn’t erase his pictures. He found the photo he had taken in Starbucks, with Brock staring out the window. He remembered that day; it was just a few weeks ago, but it felt like another lifetime. When things were better, easier. He set the phone on his nightstand, propping it up against the bedside lamp and lay down on his side, so he could look at it until the screen blacked out. Then he closed his eyes and finally drifted off.


	18. I’ll stay with you, my friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack wallows in misery.

Few days ago, Jack would spring out of bed before the alarm clock with a pleasant flutter in his chest, looking forward to the day awaiting him.

This day was different. This day, Jack wanted to stay in his bed for eternity, just curl up under the covers and die. He called Fury to take a day off, excusing himself with some bullshit about being overstressed and overworked. Considering the incident with shooting a criminal the previous day, it was a believable excuse.

He spent the whole day smoking in his bed, not even bothering to open the window, taking painkillers for an ache that they could never cure, and wallow in misery. At one point he even went to the kitchen to force some food into himself, but he felt like throwing up the moment his tongue touched a slice of bread.

At first, he wanted to keep Brock’s number, despite his promise that he would delete it. He was sentimental like that. But the temptation to text him proved to be too strong, so he erased it eventually, along with all the texts they had exchanged. He tried not to read them as he did, but some of them just caught his eye; sweet words that meant nothing now, empty promises, dreams that would never come true.

He still didn’t delete the pictures.

He had to come to work the next day, though, so he reluctantly dragged himself out of bed way past the alarm. He got dressed in whatever was lying around and went out, not caring about strands of hair falling in his face or an oh so attractive mixture of tobacco and sweat he certainly smelled of.

Bucky casually asked him if they could team up again, but even that didn’t cheer Jack up. They took Hill with them this time, and the ride around their city district was much more peaceful than it usually was.

“ _Ty rasskazal yemu?_ ” Bucky asked, glancing at him.

“Not now,” Jack muttered, not looking back at him. He was leaning his head against the window, staring blankly at the people and buildings they were passing by.

“I’ll take it as a yes,” Bucky said. “How did it go?”

Jack closed his eyes, refusing to respond. He already told Bucky to leave the topic, he wasn’t gonna repeat himself.

“Hey, you slept last night?”

“Remember when you got mad at me and we stopped talking? Those were good times. Let’s do more of that.”

Bucky grumbled something in response. Being rude to him usually made Jack feel better (being rude in general improved his mood), but this time it only made him more miserable. Bucky didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day, but he did buy him coffee when they went for lunch. It was a double espresso and absolutely horrible, but Jack appreciated the gesture.

Then the weekend came, and Jack planned to spend it more or less the same way he did Thursday. He certainly didn’t expect any guests, so when his doorbell rang on a late Sunday afternoon, he thought it was either his landlord or one of the neighbors. But when he opened the door, he was surprised by Bucky carrying a six-pack of beer in his hand.

“What, we’re friends again?” Jack asked.

Bucky shrugged. “You’re not all bad. Just went astray. And I think you need a friend now. Or, at least, that.” He lifted the six-pack.

“I’m perfectly fine on my own.” Despite his words, Jack stepped aside to let Bucky in. A gaping hole in his chest filled up with a bit of warmth.

“Are you kidding me, you’re a mess.” Bucky walked in, looking around. He had known where Jack lived for years, but it was the first time he was inside. “Homely.”

Jack glanced around. It was a typical bachelor pad, especially now that he wasn’t in the mood for proper cleaning. The air was stale and smelled distinctly of cigarette smoke. Still, it looked better than Jack felt. He returned to his place on the couch, where he wrapped himself in blankets like a burrito and lit up another cigarette. Bucky set the six-pack on the kitchen counter. He opened the fridge curiously.

“Did you eat anything?” he asked suspiciously.

“Stop being a mom friend.”

“Did you see yourself? You look like death. And that’s coming from me.”

“Some people find that attractive, apparently. Maybe now Romanov will try to ask me out.”

Bucky shut the fridge and opened the freezer below. He pulled out a tub of ice cream. “Let me guess. There’s dill inside.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Bucky mumbled as he opened the tub to reveal a half-eaten block of zabaglione ice cream.

Jack figured it was another one of Bucky’s jokes he was never gonna get.

Bucky joined him on the couch, handing him a bottle of beer, the ice cream and a little spoon.

“Eat that.”

“Seriously?” Jack asked through the cigarette he was holding between his teeth as he opened the bottle. “You were outside, it’s freezing. Man, I hate April.”

“Don’t let it stop you.” Bucky pulled the cigarette out from between Jack’s teeth and stubbed it out in a full ashtray. “Come on, Rollins. That’s practically sugar, and sugar is what you need.”

Jack took a long sip of beer, the bitterness of it mixing with the nasty taste tobacco left on his tongue. The taste of life.

“My name is Jack,” he said quietly.

Something flickered in Bucky’s eyes. Maybe surprise, maybe amusement.

“Okay. Jack.” He sighed and his voice turned significantly more serious. “I spoke to Steve yesterday. He said you and Brock had a fallout, but he didn’t know the details.”

Jack rubbed a corner of his eye with his free hand. “I knew you came here for gossip.”

He told Bucky about his last confrontation with Brock, his voice vacant and monotonous. It felt like he was talking about something that happened to somebody else. He felt a little better after he finished, though; it was good to finally talk to somebody about this. He didn’t feel as lonely in his pain anymore.

“I don’t wanna say ‘I told you so,’ but…” Bucky winced.

Jack groaned. “You’re the worst friend ever.”

“I’m not the friend you need, but I’m the friend you deserve,” Bucky said in his best Batman impression.

“Case in point.” Jack reached for his cigarettes, but Bucky deflected his hand with his own and shoved the tub of ice-cream into it instead.

“Seriously, eat it. It’s a little thawed now.”

Jack sighed in defeat and settled the tub in his lap. The frost it had been covered in melted, leaving wet stains on the coffee table and Jack’s blanket.

“Listen, Jack, I’m gonna be blunt now—”

“When aren’t you?” Jack interrupted and Bucky waved at him to shut up, but his lips split into a little smile.

“—But what you feel for Brock, it’s not love. It’s an obsession. And the sooner you realize it, the faster you get over it.”

Jack scooped up a bit of melted ice cream onto his spoon, thinking.

“Can’t it be both?” he asked finally. “I really care about him. Not only about wanting him, but also about what he wants. God knows I’ve never been in a healthy relationship in my life, but I think that’s love.”

“Well then, there’s really only one solution for love. You gotta walk it off. Like every other pain.” Bucky shrugged. “Hey, it’s gonna be alright. We’re cops. Pain is what we know.”

“You’re really the worst.”

But a little later, when sugar rush from the ice cream made him feel better, and Bucky decided to distract him from his heartbreak with a game of poker, he thought that maybe Bucky wasn’t such a bad friend after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If GT didn't lie to me, the translations are:  
> Ty rasskazal yemu? - Did you tell him?


	19. when I miss you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a long time to heal.

The following days blended into a blur for Jack. He only felt real when he was at work, among other people; the moment he came home, he dissolved into non-existence, unable to do anything but to wait for the day to end. Still, he wasn’t in as bad a state as he could be; at least he showered again, which Bucky assured him was a progress. Sometimes he even ate, when the ache in his empty stomach was too much to bear. Food tasted like ashes, no matter what, but at least it lessened the pain. Jack wished he could fill his empty chest as easily.

Bucky stuck with him through all of it, offering as much emotional support as he could. Which mostly meant he was there for Jack to take out his frustration on. Sometimes Jack realized he was being too harsh and unfair in his mocking, but Bucky never complained, so it was alright. Jack was gonna make it up to him some day, anyway, when he was strong enough to live normally again. Or as close to normally as he was able to.

Bucky made Jack delete the photos of Brock from his phone. Some crap about moving on. It shouldn’t have made much of a difference, since Jack wasn’t looking at the pictures anymore, but he did feel a little lighter after doing it. Bucky also suggested online dating, but it was gonna be a long time before Jack would be ready to date.

“Right,” Bucky agreed.

They were sitting in one of a dive bars Jack’s apartment block was practically surrounded with. Now that Brock’s Starbucks was off limits, they decided to look around for a new meeting place. Jack liked this one; the patrons weren’t as shady as the ones they encountered in a dive bar they drank in last week, and the interior was climatic, too, with dark walls and furniture and strings of little lights hanging everywhere. And the barmaid was nice.

“You’re unfit for dating,” Bucky continued. “Maybe you should channel your energy into something else. Like art. That’s what I do.”

“Channel my what into what?” Jack asked bitterly. “I can barely make an effort to take a shower and make myself look a little better than a scarecrow.”

Bucky wrinkled his nose. “And Steve calls me dramatic.”

Jack tensed, hearing Steve’s name. Bucky hadn’t mentioned neither him nor Brock in days, and Jack would rather he kept it that way.

“Brock was asking about you, by the way,” Bucky added casually.

Jack shut his eyes, his hand clenching his cold glass of beer a little tighter. “Not helping.”

Bucky eyed him warily. “Thought you’d want to know.”

Jack shook his head.

“Sorry,” Bucky said. “I thought you were doing better. You are doing better at work.”

“Because Fury isn’t trying to get me to see a therapist anymore?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe.” Jack shrugged, took a long sip of beer and winced a little. This place’s beer wasn’t the best – the unusually low price should have tipped him off. “Don’t mention him anymore.”

Bucky nodded, understanding Jack meant Brock and not Fury. They sat in silence for a while, looking around and watching the patrons. The place was busy despite the lousy beer. There were two girls in short skirts sitting at the bar and eyeing them up, giggling to each other. They must have been really drunk, to take interest in Bucky and Jack out of all the other guys.

“How is he?” Jack asked in a small voice.

“Uh, fine. I guess. Still a barista. Still with Steve.”

Jack nodded and finished his beer.

He wasn’t exactly counting days, but a lot of them had passed before Bucky mentioned Brock again. They were in the locker room, getting changed out of their uniforms after work, and waiting for Wilson and Coulson to get out of the showers. Wilson liked his showers long, the little shit.

“Brock asked for your address,” Bucky said suddenly, watching carefully for Jack’s reaction. “I know you’re trying to forget he exists, but I thought I’d warn you, in case he wanted to pay you a visit or something.”

Jack wasn’t sure what it was he felt at the sound of Brock’s name after so long, but he felt _something_. He wasn’t yet fully healed from his crush, he knew, but he thought he was on the way there. He had more energy and will to do more than just lie in his bed and stare at a ceiling mindlessly. He finally finished his book at the start of the week, and made plans to buy himself a new one. Reading was really helpful when it came to forgetting reality, Brock included. Jack hoped that soon, he’d be able to forget him entirely and just live his life.

“Why would he want to pay me a visit?” Jack asked hollowly.

“I’m not—” Bucky trailed off, worrying his lower lip. “He asked me something else a few days ago,” he said finally. “If he should forgive you.”

Jack looked at him with his eyebrows raised. “And what did you say?”

“That I didn’t know. It’s his decision.”

Jack’s chest pained suddenly and he realized he stopped breathing for a while. He breathed in abruptly. His heart raced, fueled by a new wave of hope. Hope that he shouldn’t have.

He tried to stifle it, telling himself that there was no way Brock wanted to see him after so long. After what he had done. And yet, when he parked in front of his apartment block, a short, familiar figure was pacing nearby. Jack’s heart fluttered. He stayed in his car, taking in all the features of Brock that faded in his memory. The exact color of his eyes, the wrinkles surrounding them, the veins protruding from beneath the skin on his neck. How unbelievably puffy his hair was.

Brock looked up as if he sensed he was being watched; he noticed Jack and halted to a stop, his chest raising in a deep breath. Jack had no other choice; he wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans, got out of the car and went up to him, his legs a little shaky. Brock folded his arms on his chest and took a little step back, staring up at Jack with his lips slightly parted. It would be so easy to just lean in and kiss him.

Jack was _so_ not over him.


	20. hope-bringer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brock’s into irresponsibility. Among other things.

“Jack,” Brock said in a voice a little higher than Jack remembered.

“Hey, Brock,” Jack replied. Thoughts were running through his head so fast his mind could as well be blank.

“I broke up with Steve,” Brock blurted out.

Jack blinked. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, you ain’t.”

He shrugged. “It’s a thing nice people say.”

“You ain’t nice though, are you?”

He shook his head, looking Brock up and down. He tried not to think too much about what it all meant for him, what Brock intended. “Are you alright?”

Brock nodded curtly. “Yeah.” His hands were holding his sides, as if he tried to hug himself. “No. Can we talk?”

“We’re talking.”

“We’re standing in the middle of a sidewalk.”

Jack gestured towards his apartment block. “Wanna come in?”

Brock nodded, so Jack led him to the building. He fished his keys out of the pocket of his jeans and fumbled with them for few seconds before finally managing to unlock the door. They already reached the second floor when Jack remembered the less than decent state of his apartment, but it was too late to go somewhere else now. Besides, they probably needed privacy for whatever it was Brock wanted to talk about.

“I wasn’t expecting guests,” Jack warned when he opened his door and let Brock inside.

“’S fine,” Brock muttered, looking around.

The place looked even worse than the first time Bucky visited. The kitchen and the living room were littered with empty pizza boxes, and the trash hadn’t been taken out in a while. The air still smelled strongly of cigarette smoke.

“Have a sit.” Jack waved vaguely around.

Brock sat down on a bar stool at the kitchen counter and busied himself with admiring a pizza box lying before him.

“Want anything to drink?”

He shook his head. “No, thanks.”

Jack leaned against the opposite wall with arms crossed on his chest. “So, what is that you wanted to talk about?”

Brock took a deep breath. “Do you know how Steve and I started dating?”

Jack shook his head. He remembered they met in a gym, but that was about it. He watched Brock, wondering what this was leading to.

“He took me out on a fancy dinner, and it was a little awkward, but we were getting along. Then he gave me a ride on his bike, and wished me goodnight. The next day he surprised me with a picnic in a park.”

“Sounds nice,” Jack muttered.

“Sounds boring,” Brock countered, looking up. “I picked up Steve because I thought he was something else. You should see him training. Or sparring. He’s a real beast then. But outside the gym?” He shook his head. “He thought I was different, too. And, I don’t know, I guess I didn’t wanna disappoint him? He really made me wanna be a better guy. The kinda guy who likes picnics, feeding ducks, romantic dinners and the missionary position. But that’s not me.”

Jack frowned. Brock looked around again, sighing, as if searching for inspiration.

“I was here before, wasn’t I?” he asked.

Jack swallowed a feeling of guilt rising in his throat. “Is that what you wanna talk about? Because I don’t know what to say to you. I don’t know if I have anything to say.”

Brock shook his head, dropping his gaze. “No, I’m just stalling. It’s hard to face what you are sometimes, not to mention admit it to somebody else.”

“You can’t be worse than me.”

The corners of Brock’s mouth twitched. “Maybe we’re made outta the same stuff.” He looked up. “Don’t get me wrong, kidnapping someone isn’t a good way to make them like you. And I was freaking out. At first.” His voice trembled on the last word and he looked down again, giving himself a moment to steady his nerves. “But then I wasn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, I couldn’t stop thinking about _you_. And I tried. I even changed my working schedule so I wouldn’t see you, even if you tried to get in touch with me again. But you didn’t, and I was…” He took a deep breath. Jack could see his struggle, how much it cost him to get it all out, but there was nothing he could do to help him but to patiently wait for him to finish. “I was pretty fucking disappointed,” Brock continued in a lower voice. He snorted nervously. “And it was stupid, because you did exactly what I told you to, and… I don’t know how that’s possible, but you make me feel safe and endangered at the same time, and it’s… really fucking hot.” The last words were whispered. Brock looked up at Jack with his eyes wide and hot on him.

Jack’s whole body tingled. He pushed himself off the wall and approached Brock. He leaned on the kitchen counter with his hand, so he was hovering above him. Brock didn’t break eye contact.

“Wanna go out with me?” Jack asked in a low, almost purring voice. “There’s this bar I know of. It’s pretty nice, and famous for its brawls.” Brock’s pupils dilated. Jack was so close to him he could feel his hot breath on his face. “I promise not to kidnap you. Nor hurt you in any way.”

“Even if I ask you to?” Brock whispered.

“I’ll do everything you ask me to,” Jack whispered back.

He wasn’t sure if it was him who leaned in, or if it was Brock who reached up for his lips; the next moment they were kissing. Heat filled Jack’s chest, and spread on his whole body. He felt Brock smiling into the kiss, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, too. Brock’s mouth tasted like coffee, and he smelled like it as well; he must have just finished his shift in Starbucks. Jack closed the little distance that remained between them, positioning himself between Brock’s open legs. He rested one hand on Brock’s thigh, wrapping his other arm around Brock’s athletic form, pressing his heated body against his own, wanting him closer, _closer_. Brock’s hands grabbed his hips, fingers digging into the skin. A question crossed his mind, if Brock ever kissed Steve like this, like he really craved him, like he needed him to survive, but he didn’t want to think about Steve, this wasn’t about him; Steve was gone, and he didn’t have any claim on Brock, not anymore. Steve stopped mattering.

They parted to refill their lungs. Brock had his eyes closed as they breathed each other’s air, and Jack cupped a side of his face, traced his lips with his thumb. Brock smiled, his eyes half-opened.

He was so beautiful.

“I’m free tonight,” Jack muttered. “What do you say?”

“I’m game.” Brock licked his lips. “Are we gonna, like, actually talk, too? Because, I still don’t know you that well, and I just realized how stupid and irresponsible I’m being, and… I’m into that.”

Jack smiled. “Sure, but I’m worried you’ll find out how boring I really am.”

Brock snorted. “You’re the least boring person I’ve ever met, Mr. Kidnapper.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I've got a [tumblr](http://quillofchoice.tumblr.com) now! Feel free to send me requests, headcanons and/or just awkwardly make friends with me. I'm up for that. It's also were I'm gonna announce any new stories/chapters and ramble about writing/fandoms in general.


	21. big heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after. Or did they.

Jack was content. He was warm, wrapped in soft covers, the bed he was lying in was comfortable, and there was a firm body pressed into his side, filling him with feelings of security and bliss. If only that thing stopped patting his head, it’d be perfect.

He frowned as he became more awake. What was that tapping his head, really? His eyes fluttered open. The room wasn’t completely dark; moonlight was seeping in through the windows, bathing the ceiling and walls in silver glow. He turned his head away from Brock, and where the tapping was coming from. His face brushed something hairy.

It was the cat. The fucking cat was pawing at his head.

“What?” he muttered, a little louder than he intended. “What is that you want?”

Peggy couldn’t answer, of course, but at least she stopped pawing him the moment he faced her. She was sitting right beside his head, staring down at him with dark eyes, and Jack’s eyes and throat were already itching.

“She wants you to sleep facing her,” Brock mumbled behind him. “She really likes you.”

Jack couldn’t stop himself; he buried his face in the pillow and sneezed. Twice.

“You wanna pill?” Brock asked sleepily.

Jack scrambled out of bed, shivering when cold air hit his bare skin. Peggy jumped down on the floor when he started moving, and was now watching him curiously.

“Nah. Gonna head home.” He picked some cat hair out of his mouth.

Brock sat up abruptly and looked at Jack, who was bent down looking for his clothes that were carelessly thrown on the floor few hours ago. “Technically I _could_ lock her in the bathroom, but she’s gonna cry and she can be very loud.”

Jack picked up a shirt, decided it was too small to be his and dropped it back on the floor. “You don’t wanna lock your cat in the bathroom,” he said with certainty.

“I don’t,” Brock agreed.

Jack walked around the bed, his eyes fixed on the floor. He picked up the pants he recognized as his and pulled them on. “Can you see my shirt?”

“It’s in the hallway, I’m pretty sure.”

Jack finally looked up at him. The corners of his mouth were pulled down, and he looked a little wary.

“‘S fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Jack said, one hand leaning on the mattress so he could brush Brock’s forehead with his lips. He felt Brock relax. “Or, well. Later today,” he corrected when he realized it was already after midnight. “When do you finish?”

“About the same time you do.” Brock offered a small smile.

“Okay, I’m gonna come get you, and we can, I don’t know. Go for a romantic walk in the sunset.”

Brock narrowed his eyes at Jack, smiling even wider. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

Jack smirked. “Sure. We can do that, too.”

“Asshole.” Brock slapped Jack’s shoulder and lay back down.

“Sleep tight.”

Jack swiped a pair of handcuffs he “borrowed” from work off the nightstand and pocketed them. He had to return them first thing in the morning, but perhaps he should “borrow” them for good one day. Brock liked them. Brock liked a lot of things Steve would never think about doing. Jack shook his head to himself, walking out of Brock’s bedroom. He didn’t want to bring up Steve, but he liked to think there were some things he was better at than him. And that Brock definitely preferred his company to Steve’s.

He found his shirt, lying on the floor in the hallway, and put it on, smiling to himself. There was a person who chose a flint over a brilliant after all.

Even though he had much less time for sleeping these days, Jack was doing much better at work. He was even bantering with his teammates sometimes, when he was in a particularly good mood.

“Hey, Rollins,” Romanoff said as they exited the base after their daily patrol. “Bucky and I are going to the shooting range, wanna tag along?”

Bucky looked at Jack with pleading eyes above Romanoff’s shoulder. Jack wondered why he kept agreeing to spend time with her if he disliked it so much. He was about to decline – it was Bucky’s problem, not his – but after all the things Bucky did for him in the last weeks, he simply owed him.

“Yeah, fine, we just need to make a stop along the way.” He gestured for them to follow him to his car.

They got in and Jack pulled out his phone to text Brock.

_Rollins: Will you mind if my friends join us?_

_Brock: Depends on what u have in mind._

_Rollins: On a date. Not in bed. Perv._

_Brock: I don’t mind either actually._

_Rollins: Perv._

“Brock’s coming with us,” Jack said as he started up the car.

“Jack’s new boyfriend,” Bucky explained.

“Is he the cute guy I saw you talking to outside our base?” Romanoff asked.

Jack simply nodded.

“Congrats,” Romanoff said with a satisfied smile. “It’s about time, too.”

Jack frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that it’s good to love and be loved.”

“I’m gonna puke,” Bucky said weakly.

Romanoff gave him a sideways glance. “This could be us, but you playing.”

“No, Jack, stop the car. I’m seriously gonna puke.”

Jack looked at Bucky’s reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked paler than usual. Jack turned into the nearest alley and stopped the car. Bucky opened his door, leaned out and started retching.

“What did you eat?” Jack asked.

“Nothin’,” Bucky spluttered, but Jack just knew he ate something that upset his stomach. He looked out the window.

“It looks like a grapefruit,” he said accusingly. “You’re not supposed to eat those.”

Bucky rested his back against the backrest and shut the door. He was still pale and sweaty.

“Grapefruit juice.” He closed his eyes and rested his flesh hand on his stomach. “There was a bottle in the fridge in the break room labelled ‘Sam’, so I drank it.”

Jack rolled his eyes and drove off the alley. “Ten bucks say he did it on purpose.”

“I’m gonna kick his ass.”

“Maybe Rollins should drive you home.” Romanoff was watching Bucky with concern. “We can go some other time.”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Bucky waved her off.

Jack parked in front of the coffee shop. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

“Bring him some water,” Romanoff called after him as he got out of the car. He showed her a thumbs up and hurried inside.

Because it took him a while to get there, Jack was expecting Brock to wait for him, already changed out of his Starbucks apron. He was surprised to see him still behind the cash register, talking to a customer. His arms were crossed on his chest, and he was leaning back, looking at the stranger with narrow eyes. Jack frowned at the man leaning against the coffee bar; he was about Jack’s size, had short, dark brown hair, high cheekbones and a square jaw. He was watching Brock with a smug smirk and holding a paper cup, which meant he already got his coffee; he was just stalling to talk to Brock, and judging by his expression, the conversation was far from pleasant.

“—without a second thought if the price was high enough,” Jack heard Brock say as he approached him. Brock’s eyes darted to him, but instead of relaxing like Jack hoped, he tensed even more.

“Yeah, well,” the stranger agreed, shrugging. He had a gravelly voice. “Occupational quirk.”

“Hey.” Brock nodded at Jack with a forced smile.

Jack’s frown deepened, but he leaned in for a good afternoon kiss. “Hey, are you alright?” he asked softly.

Brock was about to answer when the stranger whistled.

“You’re dating a cop now, huh?” He looked Jack up and down with a lewd smile. “Nice. You did change, Bonnie.”

Jack took a closer look at him as well. Very few people could tell he was a cop when he was out of his uniform. Jack wasn’t an expert, but the stranger was wearing a suit that looked expensive – he wasn’t an ordinary white-collar. Jack was also sure he had never seen him in the coffee shop before, but then again, it took him two years to notice his barista. The guy could be a patron for all Jack knew.

“And you are?” he asked.

“An old friend,” Brock answered hurriedly. “Who’s leaving.”

The stranger scoffed. “Yeah, right.” He put sunglasses on and took a sip of his drink. “I’ll see you, _barista_.”

“No, you won’t!” Brock called after him. The stranger waved at him, not turning back to look at him, and walked out on the sunny street.

“He giving you trouble?” Jack asked.

“It’s nothing,” Brock said, a note of annoyance in his voice. “Forget him. Where we going?”

“It’s a surprise. But you’re gonna like it.”

Jack decided to drop the topic of Brock’s “old friend”, at least for now. He didn’t want to upset him even more.


	22. grab your guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know Brock is an adventure.

“Hey, Buck,” Brock said as he settled into the passenger seat. He turned around to look at Romanov. “I remember you. Your name’s…” He frowned. “I swear I have it on the tip of my tongue.”

“Natasha Romanov.” She extended her hand, looking pleasantly surprised Brock recognized her at all.

“I knew it started with an N.” Brock shook her hand. “Brock Rumlow.”

The ride to the shooting range was long even without the traffic holdup they got stuck in for twenty minutes. Bucky and Romanov started talking in Russian, first commenting how cute Brock was, then moving to the topic of his ass (that was apparently magnificent, according to Bucky at least. Jack had no idea he was a connoisseur of asses), and then exchanging bets on how much a sap Jack secretly was. Brock couldn’t understand a word, but he was growing more and more uncomfortable, what wasn’t an uncommon reaction, as Jack noticed long ago. He gave him a reassuring smile and Brock smiled back, but he was a little tense. Perhaps he was still upset about his earlier encounter with the “old friend”.

“You ever held a gun before?” Romanov asked Brock when they finally arrived at the place.

“Uh… no,” Brock replied.

Romanov started telling him about her favorite handguns. Bucky used the fact they were both distracted and pulled Jack slightly away.

“Why didn’t you join in on our conversation earlier?” he asked. “I was waiting for you to snap and say something.”

“Because Brock was already uncomfortable,” Jack replied, glaring at him.

“That was the point!”

“I’m not making my boyfriend uncomfortable.”

“Alright, jeez.” Bucky rolled his eyes, walking away to choose his gun for the night. “You really must love him.”

Jack couldn’t help a small smile. He walked back to Romanov, who was pointing at various handguns displayed in glass-cases on the back wall.

“I’d love to break you in, but I’ll let Rollins do the honors,” she said, looking up at Jack.

Jack raised his eyebrows at her. “You heard that, Brock? She’ll _let_ me.”

Brock snorted, turning back to look at him with shining eyes. Jack was right; he certainly liked it here. Romanov rolled her eyes with a smirk and walked away.

“Don’t listen to her. I should break you in. I’m better than him.” Bucky was walking back towards them, with the AAC Honey Badger in hand.

“Considering I’m half blind, that’s not much of an achievement,” Jack quipped. But it was true, Bucky never missed.

“And he’ll choose something boring,” Bucky continued. “Pick me, and I’ll show you how to handle this beauty.” He raised the weapon.

“Are you trying to steal my date?” Jack asked with a note of warning in his voice.

Bucky held up his hands defensively and walked away towards the stations.

Jack chose the Glock 19 for them, which Bucky certainly thought was boring, but he didn’t care. He liked it, it felt familiar in his hand. Firing it was almost like a meeting with a friend.

Jack led Brock to the station on Bucky’s left side. He showed him how to switch the safety, load and hold the gun. When he was adjusting Brock’s hands on the pistol grip, he noticed small bruises all around his wrists. They certainly came from the cuffs.

“Should’ve told me I was being too rough,” he muttered, his mouth beside his ear.

“Huh?” Brock followed his line of sight and gave a lopsided smirk. “There’s no such thing as ‘too rough’ with me.” He winked.

A wave of heat rose in Jack’s chest. “Ready?”

He took a step back and put on earmuffs. Brock put on his, too, and aimed at the target. Jack’s mouth went slack as he watched him fire the whole round into the small ring in the center of the target, marked as a 10, the hole becoming bigger with every bullet.

Brock turned around to face him. He was wearing a huge grin. He slipped the earmuffs back on his neck. Jack followed suit.

“How did I do?” Brock asked.

“Are you sure this is your first time?”

Brock shrugged. “Beginner’s luck.”

“Impressive,” Jack admitted. “Wow. I feel so useless right now.”

Brock looked back at the gun. “How do I switch the safety again?”

They called it a night about an hour later. Bucky looked definitely happier, and his gait had a slight bounce to it, like everytime he got to shoot at things. Brock was pretty excited, too, bouncing beside Jack with a flush in his cheeks like a small ball of energy. Jack couldn’t keep a smile off his lips.

“Are all your friends Russian?” Brock asked after Jack dropped Bucky and Romanov off on the parking lot in front of the base, where they left their own cars.

“Just Romanov. And she’s not my friend, she’s Bucky’s,” Jack replied, although Bucky would probably disagree. He took a turn towards Brock’s neighborhood. “I think Bucky used to live in Sankt Petersburg, though. For like, three years? I’m not sure, he doesn’t talk about his past much.”

Brock smirked. “Sounds like someone I know.”

“Hey, I summarized the whole story of my life for you,” Jack protested.

“ _Summarized_ ,” Brock stressed. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you left out, like, five years.”

Jack tensed a little. He already told Brock more than he was comfortable sharing.

“Look who’s talking. How much do I know about your past, huh?” he deflected.

Brock shrugged. “You never asked.”

It was true, Jack didn’t. Not that he wasn’t curious, but he figured that if Brock wanted to tell him something, he would. He never was a prying person and most of the things he knew about Brock came from his own observation. Which meant he was familiar with Brock’s day schedule, his likes and dislikes, brands of cosmetics he used, and he was in the middle of exploring his turn-ons and turn-offs. But he knew almost nothing about his history, his dreams, fears, old friends and other things he just didn’t talk about freely.

Jack parked in front of Brock’s house. Brock unbuckled and waited for Jack to do the same.

“You ain’t coming in?” Brock asked when Jack didn’t move.

Jack shook his head. It would be great to follow Brock inside, get a bottle of beer and discard it completely in favor of Brock’s lips. But there was _the fucking cat_.

“I have stuff to do,” he said.

Brock raised his eyebrow. “What stuff?”

“Home stuff. I haven’t took out the trash in a while. It’s starting to stink.”

Brock wrinkled his nose. “One day I’m gonna fulfill my dream and clean that fucking pad of yours, I swear to God.”

Jack chuckled.

“I’m serious. It’s gonna fuckin’ _shine_ when I’m done with—mmph.”

Brock made an appreciative sound when Jack kissed him and returned the kiss eagerly, slipping his tongue between Jack’s lips, almost lying down on Jack’s chest. Jack moved closer, as close as his seat let him, and wrapped his arm around Brock’s waist. Brock moved from his lips to his jaw, kissing a line towards his ear.

“You smell nice,” he murmured.

“We both reek of gunpowder.”

“Mmm.” Brock mouthed and licked his throat.

Jack noted guns were also a turn-on. Brock usually didn’t get this hot when they were in Jack’s car, about to say goodbye.

“This is very nice, but either I go home now, or I stay the night, and I _really_ must take care of things.”

“I want you to take care of me.” Brock’s hands slipped under Jack’s t-shirt, and Jack twitched a little at their coldness.

“I want that, too. Tomorrow, okay?” Jack pressed another kiss to his lips and leaned away, taking Brock’s hands out from under his t-shirt.

Brock pouted, but didn’t protest. “Fine. But don’t be late, or I’ll find someone else to take care of me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack raised an eyebrow. “I wonder, who.”

Brock shrugged. “Lotsa tall, dark and handsome types around. You ain’t that special.” He winked and jumped out of the car. “‘Night!”

Jack knew Brock was joking, but his mood dropped a little. He smiled at Brock anyway, waving him goodbye before starting up the engine and driving off into the night.

 


	23. better run from the skull and crossbones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack finds out something about Brock.

Jack managed to completely forget about Brock’s old friend, which was why he was more surprised than enraged when he saw him pacing outside Brock’s Starbucks one sunny afternoon. Nonetheless, he got out of his car and approached him. He had his hands clenching the collar of the stranger’s blindingly white button up, and had him shoved back against a grimy, concrete wall before he saw it coming. Some passersby that were walking the sidewalk turned around and hurried away. One of them was probably going to call 911, but Jack didn’t care.

“Brock told you to get lost,” he hissed into the stranger’s face.

The man seemed unfazed by Jack’s outburst, regarding him coolly. “Oh, is it what’s he calling himself now?”

Jack expected many different reactions from the stranger. This wasn’t one of them. He blinked. “What?”

“I suppose it is his real name,” the stranger said nonchalantly. “I knew him under another one, though. Crossbones. Not much of a name, if you ask me.”

Jack’s face fell.

“Oh, so you’ve heard of him.” Using Jack’s distraction, he pushed him away and turned his head back to inspect his expensive jacket. “Well, I suppose he doesn’t need me as much as I thought. He already found himself a bodyguard.” He shrugged, readjusted his collar and turned his back to Jack, slipping his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Be seeing ya.”

Jack stared after him, stunned. The guy must have been lying. There was no possibility for Brock to be… Or it’s just a coincidence, everybody could have that nickname, really…

He walked inside the coffee shop, almost bumping into Brock, who was talking to a tall blond, already out of his Starbucks apron. Jack looked at him like he saw him for the first time in his life.

“Oh, there you are,” Brock said. “Meet my best friend, Clint.”

Jack looked up at the blond and realized he was the same barista who had told him Brock called in sick all those weeks ago.

“Jack Rollins,” he said, shaking his hand.

“Clint Barton. Nice to meet you.”

A new customer walked in and Clint left them to attend to him.

“Are you okay?” Brock asked when he was following Jack to his car.

“Sure, why?”

Jack unlocked the car and got in. Brock followed suit.

“Because, while you frown at everybody like you wanna kill them, you’ve never frowned at me. Until now.”

“Sorry.” Jack kissed his cheek to atone for his murderous frown.

He was still thinking about what the stranger said as he drove them to Brock’s house. He couldn’t possibly mean _the_ Crossbones… But then, why would he use the name at all, if it was just a meaningless nickname? _So you’ve heard of him,_ he said. Of course Jack had, he was a cop. Every cop in the city knew that name. But it couldn’t be him, not his Brock. But… on the other hand… his “beginner’s luck” at the range. Jack was good his first time, too, but not _that_ good. Nobody could be that good, not if they weren’t familiar with the type of a gun they were firing. Jack didn’t know if Brock had any reasons to lie about that, _if_ he was lying. The majority of Brock’s past remained a mystery. Jack never asked, sure, but maybe he should have. Not even to find out what Brock was hiding, but to learn if he was hiding anything at all. Jack glanced at Brock and realized he was being stared at expectantly.

“What?” Jack asked.

“There’s something you ain’t telling me.”

“You’re right.” Jack sighed. “Don’t worry about it. It’s… work stuff.”

And he was almost telling the truth. Brock nodded and looked away, his gaze eventually fixing on the view out his window.

“I know we didn’t make plans for tonight, but I thought you’d at least come in for coffee,” Brock said after Jack parked in front of his house and didn’t move to get out.

Jack frowned. “Don’t you have enough coffee at work?” He was sure that if he kissed Brock, he would taste of it.

“Depends on what you mean when you say coffee.” Brock waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Jack snorted. “I can’t tonight, I have… stuff.”

Brock’s playful smile faded. “Home stuff? Again?”

“Work stuff. I told you. There’s something I have to do.”

“It’s because of Peggy, isn’t it?” Brock looked away, crossing his arms.

“Of course it’s not because of Peggy, I don’t mind her.”

“Sure. Fine.” Brock unbuckled and opened the door. “See you tomorrow. I guess.” He got out and shut the door, harder than it was necessary.

Jack sighed and shook his head at himself. He drove off the driveway and took the nearest turn leading to the police station. He didn’t lie – there was something he needed to check.

Stark was still in his office, clicking on one of the computers with a speed of wind. He didn’t react when Jack walked in. Jack sat down at one of the computers Stark wasn’t currently using (at least he hoped so; he had seen Stark use three different computers at once) and started sorting through old cases, from before two years ago. He found one named “Skull and Crossbones” and double-clicked it.

Skull and Crossbones was a case of two notorious thieves, named so after their code names. They were pros; they had been active for about eight years, as far as the police knew, and they never got even close to being caught. All the police had were few videos from traffic cameras. Jack leaned in to inspect the grainy picture on the first page. Two guys were jumping above a fence. One was over six foot tall, wearing a black hoodie and a skull mask – therefore, he was called Skull. The other one was shorter but beefier, wearing an identical hoodie, a mask with a white cross painted on it, and a backpack. Some idiot who was leading the case thought it was a good idea to call him Crossbones. Apparently the guy found out about it, thought it was a good idea as well and started going by it.

Apparently, the guy’s real name was Brock Rumlow.

Jack didn’t want to believe it. The problem was, the longer he looked at the picture, the more familiar Crossbones’ figure felt. He wasn’t as muscular as Brock, but the picture was from before three years ago. Brock worked out every day. His body was bound to change. And according to the very limited description in the files, Crossbones and Brock were about the same height…

Jack scrolled through the file. It never was his case, but with some of the thefts, he was familiar. The last one was from two years ago, and involved murder. An elderly man was shot. What investigators thought that happened was, Skull and Crossbones didn’t expect this man to be home as they broke in, they got surprised and killed him, either out of panic or to cover their tracks.

Jack clicked the print button and slumped in his chair. If Brock was really Crossbones… and the longer Jack thought about it, the more he was convinced he was… If Brock killed that man…

The file had about forty pages, so it took a moment to print. It was getting late, but if Jack was lucky, Brock wasn’t yet in bed. He grabbed the freshly printed pages and left the office without a word. Stark probably didn’t realize somebody was even there anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brock Rumlow and Tony Masters, AKA Taskmaster, have a history in comics - Brock was Taskmaster's student, and later an instructor in his school. I am a huge fan of Taskmaster and usually headcanon them to know each other in MCU. (By the way, they have rights to him. They should do something about that.) In this story the police calls him Skull, because that makes more sense, but it's the same character.


	24. I’ll be there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One story’s end is another story’s beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah. Okay. Thanks to everybody who read and left feedback in a form of kudos and comments. Special thanks to everybody who commented on almost every chapter. Your continued support helped me not only write this story, but also improve it. 
> 
> I enclosed some thoughts on the story overall in the end notes, so if you're not interested in that, feel free to skip it.

There was light in Brock’s windows. Jack got out of the car and rang the doorbell. It didn’t take Brock long to answer the door.

“Are you fu—Jack.” He looked taken aback. He was already wearing his pajamas, and his hair was damp and pushed back. He was clenching his phone.

“Were you expecting someone else?” Jack asked with a raised eyebrow, studying him, wondering if he was looking at a notorious criminal. He looked so innocent.

Brock huffed in irritation. “Wasn’t expecting anybody.” He let Jack in. “Changed your mind? Bad news, I’m no longer in the mood to play.”

“Good. It’ll be easier.” Brock looked at him in confusion. “I met your old friend outside Starbucks today. Told me something interesting about you.”

Brock noticeably froze, then tensed; then he crossed his arms on his chest, adopting a defensive position. He leaned back against the door, in an attempt to seem nonchalant.

“Oh, yeah? What would that be?”

Jack didn’t answer; instead he raised the printed pages he was clenching in his hand. Brock’s eyes scanned the first page quickly, all color draining from his face as soon as he saw the grainy picture, and then the name of the case. He kept his expression fixed, though, as he looked back at Jack.

“Interesting read,” Jack said, because Brock kept quiet. He was now hundred percent sure he was talking to Crossbones and not an innocent civilian. If Brock was innocent, he’d demand an explanation. “It includes about thirty-five cases of theft with trespassing, and one case of murder. Pretty impressive.” He tilted the pages to look at the picture. “That’s you in the picture, isn’t it?”

“I don’t do that anymore,” was Brock’s only answer. He was still pale, his voice lower, and pose defensive.

Jack expected him to deny everything. Try to explain. Even get angry that Jack could ever think badly of him. But there he stood, calmly admitting to what Jack just accused him of.

“Were you gonna tell me about this?” he asked. “You must have known I’d find out, sooner or later.”

“Were you gonna tell me about kidnapping me?” Brock deflected.

“Actually, yes. But it was too late, because you already knew, and I actually kinda regret I didn’t. But let’s not make this about me.” Jack shook the pages to get Brock’s attention back to the problem at hand.

Brock’s eyes flicked to them. “Look, Jack, I wasn’t exactly kidding when I told you I had a dark and troubled past.”

“Yeah, figured that much.”

“I didn’t lie to you. And you can’t really accuse me of hiding things from you, since you never asked about my past. What was I supposed to say? ‘Morning, sweetheart. I’m an ex-thief. What do you want for breakfast?’”

Brock never called him sweetheart, but it wasn’t the time to nitpick.

“Ex-thief? Ex-thief hardly covers it. A man died.”

“Wasn’t me. I know you don’t believe me, but I didn’t shoot him.”

“I believe you.” Jack finally dropped his hand. He looked at the picture once again, this time focusing more on the taller of the guys. “That’s him, isn’t it? Your old friend, he’s Skull.”

“I cannot tell.”

“So he is. Why is he here, what does he want from you?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Nothing I can’t handle myself.”

“So you are. What does he want, does he want you back?”

Brock shook his head with a wry smile. “Nobody wants me back. Some guys didn’t like it when I left, and now they found out where I am. Skull came to warn me. He’s not…” He took a deep breath. “He’s more than just a friend, so if you’re thinking about going after him… don’t. Okay?”

Jack didn’t suppress his scowl in time. More than just a friend… He should have guessed. Skull was tall, dark and handsome – Brock certainly had a type. Well, Steve was only two out of the three, but from what Jack gathered, Steve never was exactly Brock’s type.

“He saved my life,” Brock continued. “I told you my father kicked me out. Where did you think I went? I’ve lived on the streets for years. Learnt to do some things, not because I wanted to, but to survive. It was a matter of time when I started hanging out with… some real shady types. Skull among them. He saw how good I was, and he offered me a deal. We wouldn’t just steal jewelry, or TV sets, or whatever. We stole collectable coins, rare minerals, rare books… Things rich people wanted to have, but couldn’t, because someone got them first. They’d contact us and point at the thing, our job was just to steal it.”

Jack nodded; the police figured that much out.

“We earned shitload of money outta this. Look around you; you think I’d be able to afford this kinda house serving coffee in Starbucks?”

Brock’s house wasn’t anything special, it was as big as a standard two-room apartment, but it was situated in a nice neighborhood where everything seemed expensive. Jack knew for sure he himself would be barely able to rent it, much less buy it.

“If it wasn’t for Skull, who knows what woulda happen to me. I’d probably be still a hobo. Or dead of starvation.”

“Yeah, yeah, the guy’s flawless, I get it.”

So maybe Jack was a little jealous. He thought he had a right to, considering Brock talked about his ex like he was the best thing that had ever happened to him. At least Jack hoped Skull was Brock’s ex and not some kind of an on-again, off-again partner.

“So…” Brock dropped his gaze and extended his wrists, one hand still clenching his phone, the other folded into a fist. “Let’s get it over with. I know you have those cuffs somewhere on you, so just…”

Jack regarded him with a heavy heart, taking in the pose of complete submission and the little pained frown on his face. He folded the papers and set them down on an end table. He took Brock’s phone out of his grasp and put it on top of the papers. Then he closed Brock’s fists in his hands and kneaded them until they relaxed and rested open-palmed against his fingers.

“What are you—” Brock looked up at him, looking lost. “But… I just confessed…”

“I heard.”

“Aren’t you gonna arrest me? That’s, kinda, your job…” Brock was still a little on edge, but his mouth started to quirk into a light smile.

“I handle gunfights, domestic abuse and occasionally convince somebody not to kill themselves. I’m not an investigator, Brock, and this isn’t my case. If the idiot leading it wasn’t good enough to catch you two, then it’s not my problem. I only came here to hear the truth. And to make sure you’re not in trouble.”

Brock let out his breath in a gasp, slipped into Jack’s arms and held him tightly, burying his face in Jack’s chest.

“You scared me, you sonofabitch. I thought I lost you,” came his muffled voice.

Jack smiled slightly. “You forgave me kidnapping you. I don’t give a shit if you were a thief. I wouldn’t even if it was you who killed that man.”

“It was me.”

Jack froze. Feeling him tense, Brock tightened his hold. Jack could feel his heart race against his chest. He wrapped his arms around Brock’s waist to reassure him. He felt Brock’s hot breath as he let it out in relief.

“I didn’t mean to. I panicked and fired. Still have nightmares about it.” Brock took a deep breath and let go of Jack, taking a step back. Color returned to his cheeks. “That’s why I left.” He was much more open now, that he was sure Jack was going to accept him, no matter what else he had to confess. “It was a wake-up call. I got so caught up in this… _job_ … that I didn’t notice when it stopped being a way to survive and became a way of life. I wanted to change. I wanted to be a good person.”

“That’s why you stuck with Steve for so long,” Jack realized.

“Yeah,” Brock agreed. “In hindsight, that was just another shitty thing I did. I didn’t deserve him. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t fully appreciate the goodness of his heart.”

“Well, I’m not complaining,” Jack muttered in a low voice. Brock shoved him lightly with one hand, but he was smiling. “So, these guys that found you…”

“I know I’ve been acting like a total pussy around you, but I’m actually a little tougher than that.” Brock winked. “I can handle it. I really don’t need a cop in the mix.”

“I’m not just a cop.”

“No, you’re also my overprotective boyfriend. Tell you what: I’ll let you beat them up if they’re stupid enough to approach me with you around. Just don’t lock me up in your closet and we’re good.” Brock patted his arm before sliding his hand down to link their fingers together. “Now that you came here… Are you gonna stay?” he asked, his voice lower and huskier than usual, his eyes promising sins.

Jack didn’t have to remember the cat, as his eyes were already watering. “I’d rather not,” he said slowly, wiping them.

Brock stopped smiling. “Do you think seriously about us?”

Jack frowned. “Of course I do.”

“Then how do you imagine us ever moving in together?”

Jack shrugged. “We’ll figure something out. Don’t worry about it, look what we went through. You think my stupid allergy is gonna stop us?”

The corners of Brock’s mouth twitched upwards. “I know it seems stupid, but it _is_ a problem.”

“How about we walk around it until we find a solution. Tomorrow I’m taking you to mine.” Jack cupped Brock’s cheek and leaned in to kiss him.

Brock smiled against his lips. “Goody. I’ll finally get to clean it.”

Jack huffed out a laugh and wished Brock goodnight before leaving. They would be fine, he thought as he walked back to his car. It wasn’t going to be easy, but love wasn’t flowers and pretty words, it was hard work. In the end, if nothing else worked, Jack could always kidnap the cat.

They were going to be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time. When I started writing this story, I didn't think it'd be this long. I expected it to have maybe 7 chapters or not many more. But then new chapters and ideas just kept happening, and the longer the story got, the more doubts I had. Around chapter 13, I regretted writing the story at all. Until chapter 18, there was still a serious possibility of the story ending differently. 
> 
> Why? Because I didn't think Jack was the kind of character who deserved a happy ending. I didn't want this story to send a wrong message that a stalker who deliberately (despite what Jack wanted everybody else to believe) kidnaps his crush can be rewarded for it. Thankfully though, thanks to the length of the story, Jack had time and place to grow and change. I decided that while the Jack from the earlier chapters definitely didn't deserve to "get the girl", the Jack from later chapters, who starts to notice that he's just as flawed as everybody else, starts regretting his actions and furthermore, wants to and begins to change for the better, that this Jack deserves a chance. There's still a long way to go for him, love didn't magically turn him into a good person, but I think he has a chance to become one. Or at least, get close to it.
> 
>  
> 
> I'd love to know what you think, so don't hesitate to leave a comment even after this story is long finished. You can find me on [tumblr](http://quillofchoice.tumblr.com), new stories (that are coming!) will be announced there. You can also send me a request if you like.


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